Switched
by deathofaraven
Summary: Kira is dead. Unfortunately, that doesn't mean rest for L. A mysterious prisoner is on the run with one goal: to become L. But, not everything is as it seems and not all plans run smoothly.
1. I: Dia de Los Muertos

**Dedication:** This story is dedicated to** chaotic one** (from FictionPress), **Clairavance**, and **Complete-Global-Saturation**, without whom this fic would never have been edited (and probably never would be posted, oh my!). Above all, this fic is dedicated to **Bloodstained Comma**, who first introduced me to Death Note and who let me send her many several-page-long messages asking about characters and how they'd interact and think, etc. This is for all of you.

**Disclaimer:** Unfortunately, I do not own Death Note. The series remains property of Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata, as well as their publishers. All references to other Death Note media (such as the side books and movies) belong to...the people who made them. Though, really, it still belongs to Ohba and Obata. Any references to other fanfictions are unintentional unless specified in my author's notes along with credit to the writer. I'm making no profit from this, so please take this piece of cake and forget suing me, okay?

* * *

**One:**  
**Dia de Los Muertos**

Everything went wrong the day that Quillsh Wammy's death was reported. Actually, if Digit was honest (or as honest as a drug dealer could get), things had been going wrong for a while now. First, there was that cheap-ass drug bust (it was just his luck; fucking _amateurs_ nailing him with thirty two ounces of crack and just under three ounces of black tar—_mother fucking heroine_). Then his pussy lawyers hadn't even been able to negotiate a deal to keep him from prison time after juvie. And then he'd gotten his cellmate,_ a real_ _freak_. Cuz all a brotha needed was a homicidal maniac living with him.

Ironically, what had been Digit's final straw was also what had made him and his cellmate get along: _Kira_. Digit would never admit he was terrified of an asshole that could kill people without being near them, but it gave him and Thirteen something to talk about.

In the early days, he and Thirteen only interacted when they had no choice. Even then Thirteen had hardly spoken to him; he'd just stared at Digit as though he were looking through him. Now…it depended on the day. Sometimes Thirteen acted like your best friend…other days, he tried to murder drawings of people. You could damn him to hell for being a fucking coward, but Digit wasn't saying _anything_ to the kid.

As luck would have it, Wammy's death had been reported on a day where Thirteen's mood had seemed fickle, at best, and borderline psychotic at worst.

Break in the yard had been cancelled due to rain, and everyone on the block was spending the time relaxing either in their cells or at tables. Midway through their usual card game, some of Digit's old crew stopped by to interrupt them with bad jokes. Thirteen never reacted, even when one guy tossed a newspaper over him, barely missing the top of his head.

"I keep askin'," Digit said a few minutes later, shaking the paper open as Thirteen gathered his cards together, "even though I know what you'll say: you wanna look next?"

Thirteen didn't even glance at the newspaper. "The news stays the same every day, the only difference is the people featured."

Digit stared at him a moment. Thirteen was already setting the cards back out in some strange order, but the kid's pessimism was depressing. He wondered when he'd lighten the hell up. Digit shook his head and turned back to the paper. With no tv, there was nothing better to do, but…well, the news always _did_ seem kinda similar day after day. He'd just considered tossing the paper aside, but stopped with interest at the sight of a small, nearly unnoticed article.

"Yo, Thirteen, you supposed to be smart an' shit, right?" The look Digit received in reply was bored and unimpressed. Digit tried not to snicker. "Tell me, _bro_, what kinda name is 'Quillsh'?"

He expected Thirteen to scoff. He expected his fellow seventeen-year-old to roll his eyes imperiously and use the same amount of scorn in response as he reserved for everyone else. Digit did not expect to see Thirteen freeze, his cards slipping from his hands and onto the table.

"What…what did you say?" Thirteen nearly whispered, clearly trying to sound unconcerned despite the sudden anxiety in his tone.

"'Quillsh…Wammy'. Old dude died. Says he's an invent—" The paper was out of his hands before he could blink.

Thirteen stared at the article, apparently rereading it several times. He'd always been pale, but Digit had seen corpses with more colour than Thirteen at that moment. Thirteen's eyes seemed to wander up to where the picture of the deceased was and, for a split second, the way the light hit his eyes had made the irises look red.

"No…_he's_ alive," Thirteen breathed, a smile that would scare the Devil himself spreading over his lips. "So he couldn't kill you after all. I shouldn't be surprised. If _I_ didn't get a better chance to beat you, _he_ didn't deserve one."

Whatever Thirteen was talking about went over Digit's head, and it was starting to freak him out. Digit's paper was handed back as Thirteen sat back down on his stool and reached under the seat.

"Uh…um…you need a sec?" Digit asked, remembering just what Thirteen had been arrested for and suddenly feeling the need to get away from him.

"No, no; _stay_," Thirteen said soothingly, though it did nothing to calm his cellmate down. The pale boy straightened up, a bit of thin metal in his hand. "I need a witness."

Digit's heart seemed to stop. "…the fuck you need a witness for?"

"To see the beginning." And Thirteen tore the razor into his flesh.

* * *

People could say what they wanted about L Lawliet. He honestly didn't care what they thought. Given that he was, unbeknownst to most people who looked at him, the world's greatest detective and, therefore, was rather blunt and lacking in social skills, he was used to getting weird looks or scathing comments when interacting with the public. At that moment, however, he was loitering outside a hotel, waiting for a cab, and his thoughts rendered him oblivious to the occasional odd looks at his disheveled hair and baggy clothes.

He was…relieved that the Kira case was over. No. Relieved was the wrong word. He _was_ glad Light—no, _Kira_, had been brought to justice, but it was bittersweet. Truly cunning opponents were hard to find, such was the curse of being brilliant. With most criminals, he solved who they were right away and just needed to put the pieces together for proof and motive. Kira had kept him puzzling, slipping just out of reach as soon as he thought he'd figured out the entire case, and, a real first, had even made him second guess himself. And, while he was still a bit annoyed that his deduction skills had been brought into question, he had to admit that there was a rush to the hunt. Especially one as complex as the Kira case. L had, some might say foolishly, shown his face to his adversary and had invited him to play. Kira had accepted, gotten caught in the web of lies that kept Light Yagami looking innocent, and consequently lost. L supposed he owed both shinigami involved—Ryuk for killing Light and Rem for not killing _him_—an apple or ten.

Still, in the end he'd had to "die" before the Japanese task force could catch Kira, which explained why he wasn't already in an airplane, heading back to the Wammy's House alone.

Watari, whose "death" _had_ been announced in the papers only a month or so ago, had left first with as much of their equipment as he could take inconspicuously. They'd staggered their departures a full day apart just so no one would notice two "dead" men leaving the country together, and…and now his cab was late.

L stretched slightly on his bench, wiggling his toes and resisting the urge to start on the thermos of coffee he'd prepared for his flight. It was just too tempting. After all, there would probably be a coffee shop in the airport, right? _Right_. Giving in, the detective poured himself a mug and took a contented drink.

The sun was setting on Tokyo. Around him, people were leaving work or just starting to head out for the night. And yet…he was strangely alone. No sooner had he finished that odd thought, and his coffee, than his cab had pulled up to the curb.

"Sorry for the delay, Ryuzaki-san," the driver said humbly, apologizing several more times for his lateness and bowing low. Though he spoke Japanese quickly and fluently, L noticed a faint accent that made him doubt the driver was a national.

L hid his annoyance at the driver's tardiness by ignoring him as, hurriedly slipping his feet into his untied shoes, he went to sit in the back of the cab. Before the door was closed, he had pushed it back open and hurried to retrieve his coffee before returning to the car and removing his shoes. Something felt off. He couldn't shake the feeling. It was as though he was standing at the edge of a precipice, about to tumble off. He was intimately familiar with that feeling: he felt it every time there was a breakthrough in one of his cases.

He caught sight of his reflection in the cab's rearview mirror, noting how tired he looked, and murmured, "It's remnants from the Kira case. You're getting paranoid; you don't need to look for suspects everywhere."

It may have grounded him a bit to tell himself to get over it, but it didn't help the over-all feeling that something was off. Since L had already explained on the phone to the cab driver what to do with his luggage when he picked up "Rue Ryuzaki", it would have been suspicious for him to get out of the car for a second time and loom over him. Besides, L would have to put his shoes back on if he got out now. Instead, L kept close watch in the car's mirrors. _You're paranoid. You're not working. Stop making everything into a case_. Something was too familiar about the driver, though.

He watched the cabbie as the other man closed the trunk and got smoothly into the driver's seat. "Directly to the airport?"

L gave the barest of nods in reply and forced himself to look away. _Coffee_. Coffee would help. Or…it might, at the very least, wake his brain up enough for him to think logically. He kept quiet as they drove on, carefully reopening his thermos and pouring another cup of coffee. The steam alone was rejuvenating, and he ended up downing most of the mug in a single gulp. The rest was finished shortly afterward. By the time he'd recapped his thermos, he didn't feel quite so paranoid.

The sky had darkened by then, but, more often than not, shiny lights passed the window. _Wait…shiny?_ L tried to blink them away, but the lights seemed imprinted upon his vision, streaking into a multitude of neon lines. His heart was pounding as though he'd ran a marathon and his mouth was dry. His body didn't seem able to regulate his temperature any longer, for he couldn't tell if he was hot or cold. It was strange: though the world was spinning like a toy ship at sea, all he could feel were tremors shaking his body.

_Stop the car._ L tried to voice the thought, suddenly aware of what exactly was happening to him, but his mouth didn't seem to be working properly. _Stop the car now_.

The driver stared into the rearview window, watching closely as his passenger began to slump sideways to lean against the cab door. "Is something wrong, Ryuzaki-san?"

_Yes something _is_ wrong, and it's _your_ fault_, L thought, once again failing to give the thought voice. The sarcasm in his driver's voice was all he needed to convince himself that he'd been right that something was off with the other man. If only he could move!

His thoughts were getting more and more muddled and his eyelids seemed heavier and heavier.

The car passed under a streetlamp and the driver's eyes seemed to glow red in the mirror. "Good night, Lawliet."

L couldn't resist whatever drug he'd been slipped any longer. He fell into darkness.

* * *

**AN:** I'm shaking with terror as I post this. I'll be the first to admit it. Cuz I'm scared none of you will like it and this is my first foray into the Death Note fandom and...I'm nervous. I hope you like it. I'll be posting on the days that the fic is meant to be happening (which means you might get updates several days in a row...or you might not get them for a month), just to help make it easier to follow the timeline along. Obviously this takes place after an AU ending of the Kira case...which isn't meant to be like one we've seen and which I've no intention of explaining. What's important is that Lawli's just been kidnapped! Oh noes! I do hope you'll join me on this journey to help rescue him or who knows what harm might befall our poor, beloved detective! I hope you all enjoy the story. Please review and tell me what you think. Thank you for reading!  
_(Note: All flames will be used to burn all the shinigami's apples. I love reviews and constructive criticism, but flaming is rude and I will not tolerate it. If you flame, I will report you and then I'll make an example of you in front of everyone. You've been warned. I will not warn you again. Good day to you all.)_


	2. II: Hook and Line

**Two:  
Hook and Line**

_Wake up_.

While he was aware that he was asleep, he knew he wasn't truly dreaming. Just floating in darkness. There was a bit of a tingling throughout his body, but his limbs were like dead weights.

_Wake up. You're moving._

And, indeed, he _was_ moving extremely fast. Or…he was _in_ something that was moving. His head was so full of fog, though, and he just couldn't put the pieces together. His hair was sticking to his face in a way that was somewhat annoying, but his hands and arms ignored his desire to push it away. Even his _toes_ wouldn't wiggle for him.

_Just open your eyes. If you can see where you are, you should be able to decide what to do next._

His mind's demand for him to open his eyes didn't seem as unreasonable as waking up seemed to be for his body, and so he tried it. It felt like there was sand under his eyelids, but he finally managed to crack them open. Watery sunlight assaulted his eyes, burning them as pain shot through his head. And involuntary groan escaped his throat before he could help it.

He heard rustling beside him and felt cold fingers on his wrist. Just as his eyes had adjusted enough to focus on a leaden sky and dark green hills bespeckled with sharp, jagged rocks, there was a sharp pain in his neck and he tumbled back into unconsciousness.

* * *

L awoke with his mind substantially clearer. It was as though he'd been sleeping heavily and someone had doused him with freezing water. His mind seemed to come immediately to life as he tried to take in his surroundings.

The room was dark and entirely empty. The walls were covered with thick, spotless sheet metal, as had been the floor. L was sure both were reinforced with concrete, if only because that's what he would have done if he had built a metal room. There was a door slightly to his left, but it seemed a little bit smaller than it ought to have been.

That was around when he realized there was no ground beneath his feet.

L raised his head a little more sluggishly than he would have liked, his black hair falling out of his face with the movement, to look at his hands. They'd been bound above his head with, judging by a rough guess, both hemp and synthetic rope. The ropes were too tightly knotted for him to move his wrists enough to test them, but L could see a thin, clear plastic tube traveling from under his shirt's sleeve and up past his wrists before it disappeared somewhere behind the meat hook holding him off the ground.

He had to assume that whoever had drugged him had also been the one to bind him and leave him…_here_. Wherever "here" was. He also had to assume whoever it was also was very familiar with him, if the vague "I know you" feeling he'd had before was any indication, and knew what he was and wasn't capable of. L's mind was still feeling a little too misty to think on his long list of enemies and acquaintances to think of _who_ it could be, but he could still think on how to get out.

L looked around the empty room once more and back up at the hook. There was nothing around him he could try to grab onto with his bound legs and the hook looked like it was mounted into the ceiling sturdily enough. _Damn_. He rolled his eyes at his luck, and ended up staring at the door. He knew better than to foolishly think the door was unlocked, but the handle might still be useful; it was one of those handles that protruded straight out to the side. If he could reach it…maybe he could hook the ropes around his ankles in the handle to anchor himself, then use his hands to grab onto the hook and pull himself up just enough to slide free of the hook? It would be a hard, painful landing, especially if he ended up landing on his back—not to mention, there was only a ten percent chance of success and the probability of the handle breaking, his feet not reaching it, and his kidnapper returning were a bit too high for his liking—but, if he could get down, he would probably be able to get out. Still, ten percent….

He swung his legs experimentally, not pleased with how limply they moved. Motivating himself with the thought of shortcake, L tried again. His feet missed by a few inches. This time, when his legs swung back, he pulled them even further back before swinging forward. The miss was much closer this time. Teeth grit and heart pounding, he pulled his legs back and swung them forward. His toes caught on the door handle. Before he could celebrate, though, the rest of his body tried to jerk back with momentum. With his feet on the door, his arms were tugged sharply down. L might not have been able to fall, but he felt a sharp pain in his left wrist, as if someone had grabbed onto a tendon and tugged.

The pain drove away his concentration and his feet slipped off the handle.

He looked up, gritting his teeth even further and closing his eyes. The pain began to fade the less he moved. Remembering the plastic tube he'd noticed, L slowly opened his eyes. Sure enough, the thin tube went under his left sleeve. Carefully, so as not to move the tube around, he used his teeth to pull his sleeve down. The corners of a square of medical tape on his arm had been pulled up on one side and skin around where an IV had been inserted was red—probably from his earlier movement almost displacing it. L leaned his head back once more, his eyes following the IV tube up to the hook he was on. He hadn't seen it from his earlier position, but a bag full of clear liquid had been hung right beside the same hook. His thrashing had moved it just enough for him to read part of the label.

"Saline?" In his expert opinion, this was getting stranger and stranger. Though, judging by how exhausted his body felt, L was well over ninety percent sure that whatever sedative had been put into his coffee has also been mixed into the saline, but it still raised the question: what kind of person went through the trouble of drugging, kidnapping, and tying up a detective, only to put them on an IV to keep them alive? If it was one of his enemies, they would have killed him, right? Given the amount of people he'd put in prison and the amount of cases he'd solved…he knew there were at least a couple people who wanted him dead.

He forced himself to relax, resting his chin against his chest. For once, L started to understand what being helpless was like. He wasn't going to cry or scream, though. He had tapped into the CCTV cameras near where Kira had met his downfall and he remembered how Light had _begged_ for someone to help him, to _not die_. He had been like a bug on a hook…or maybe a rat in a trap. L would _not_ be like that; he refused to be so pathetic. He _would not_ give in. _No_; he would fight this tooth and nail. He would figure out who had done this and he _would_ bring them to justice!

L sighed as a sudden thought occurred to him. He groaned and said to the ceiling, "I _really_ want cake."

* * *

**AN:** Often times, I find myself sitting in the living room in the middle of the night, having conversations with myself just so the house doesn't sound so eerily quiet. Very rarely do these conversations bring to fruit a desire for cake. However, more often than not, I do develop a want for coffee or maybe tea or a snack. Usually, though, I desire reviews; because reviews are a writer's life fruit. Feed me, please? =) Thank you all for reading.


	3. III: Coffee Break

**Three:  
Coffee Break**

The next time L awoke, he was in a different room. Where the previous room was stark and empty, this room was gloomy and Spartan. He had woken up sprawled out on a thin, sheetless, metal-framed cot. His wrists were covered in mottled black and purple bruises and thick bands of raw flesh, but his bonds had been removed. The IV was missing, as well, and a small cotton pad had been taped over where the IV had been inserted.

He got slowly to his feet, curling his toes on the cold metal floor. The room was freezing, despite the fluorescent lights covering the ceiling. Aside from the cot, a metal toilet and shower had been set into the wall and a low table had been bolted to the floor. There were no gaps between the panels of sheet metal on the walls, but there was a thin band of black plastic circling the top of the room. There was nothing else in the room. He immediately noticed, however, that it smelled strongly of cleaning supplies and bleach.

There also wasn't any cake or coffee, which was extremely depressing for him.

L turned his eyes to the black plastic, frowning. There had to be cameras behind it; it was too obvious otherwise. Probably microphones and speakers, as well.

So, whoever-it-was was brazen, then. Cocky, arrogant, and more than content to show just how much control he had of the situation. Or…the control that he _thought_ he had. By all intents and purposes, L…probably was pretty screwed. He could see no door in the room, nor any other exits or weapons.

L turned back to the cot, curled up with a hand on his knees, and began chewing on his thumbnail. So…somewhere on his long list of enemies, he was sure his captor was lurking. Well…ninety-seven percent sure, anyway. But who was it and who were they working for?

It wasn't like the mafia or a gang to do anything so elaborate. He would be dead by now had someone from either of those discovered who he was. L ruled out thieves or conmen, as well. He doubted it was a terrorist organization, either. _Terrorists…hmm…could it be...someone who had been working for Kira before? No. Light would have arranged it before his death. Unless Light-kun isn't _really_ dead? If I could fake my death, Light could have done it, as well_. L thought on it for a long moment. _No. Too unlikely. In fact, less than fifteen percent_.

If anything, that made it even more confusing. If they weren't working to avenge Kira, L wasn't sure who it could be or any of their motives. The only motive left was his status as the world's greatest detective. Well…actually, he was all three of the world's greatest detectives, but that was beside the point.

Watari would have noticed something was wrong by now. If he didn't get out soon, Watari would begin investigating L's disappearance. And if _he_ couldn't find out anything— L paused in his thinking. _It would be them, then_. Mello. Matt. Near. One of them would be chosen to become him and would begin the search. They were too young; too inexperienced. No, he needed to solve this before that could happen.

He needed to keep thinking.

* * *

Mello was more than a little bit annoyed. Stupid Near. Stupid Near always beating him at everything.

The blonde scowled murderously as he went about emptying trashcans. It wasn't his fault that Near was sick. Well, actually, it _was_ his fault (that would wear off in a couple hours, though), but Near had started it by being so damn annoying. Near was always trying to be better and he always got all the attention. It wasn't fair! Mello had been the best before Near had had to show his sheepy head. But Mello would show him; he _would_ beat Near. One way or another, he _would_ be L's successor! But, first, he needed to finish with throwing out the trash.

He had just finished putting the trash from Roger's office into a bag when he heard quick, authoritative footsteps coming down the hall. He knew L was supposed to be arriving soon (finally!), but it didn't sound like L. Mello didn't wait for Roger to tell him to go; he finished quickly and threw open the door. An elderly gentleman in a neatly pressed suit stood in the doorway, a hat in his hands.

"Watari!" Mello gasped cheerfully, unable to stop himself as Watari looked down at him, a grave expression on his face.

"Mello," Watari replied, gently putting a hand on the young boy's head in a fatherly manner.

Watari carefully moved him out of the room, said good night, and entered Roger's study. Judging by the silence, they were waiting to make sure Mello had left first. Mello stood there, running his free hand through his long hair as he thought. Damn, he wanted a chocolate bar. Deciding quickly, Mello darted into a room next to Roger's office, bringing the trash bag with him.

He stood behind a bookcase, keeping still and listening with all his might. Roger's office door opened and then closed.

"We have a very serious problem," Watari said quietly.

On the other side of the wall, Mello struggled to hear them and just barely heard Roger inquire: "Where is L?"

"I haven't received contact from him in several days."

"Could he have taken a case without telling anyone?"

The second Roger said it, Mello could tell he was wrong. He didn't know how he knew it, he just did. Something about Roger's reasonable tone made him suspicious.

"Watari—"

"I only came to ask you if you had heard anything from him, Roger."

"I haven't."

Mello froze, the trash bag nearly slipping from his hands. L…was missing? MIA? How could it be? L was the best! How could someone best him? Unless he had left on his own. But why? It didn't make any sense. L wouldn't just vanish on them all. It wasn't like him. He had promised Mello he would come back! No. Some…someone had to have…but….

"—look for him myself," Watari was saying. There was an angry sort of edge to his voice that Mello had never heard before. It was scarier than Roger's most irritated tone.

There was a slight scraping of a chair being pushed back and the rustle of someone standing up.

"Quillsh!" Roger said sharply. "Wait."

Another chair was pushed back. More rustling. Footsteps.

"I wanted to show you both this; however…."

There was a rustle of paper and Mello tried to press his ear even closer to the wall, trying to hear over the pounding of his heart.

Someone inhaled sharply before Watari slowly said, "So he's escaped, then."

_He?_ Mello wondered. _What "he" are they talking about?_

"Yes. According to the detention center, he attempted suicide and broke out of the medical wing that night." Roger paused and added delicately, "Is it possible that he—"

"_Anything_ is possible, Roger. Thank you." There were footsteps heading toward the door as Watari added, "If we find one, I'm sure we'll find the other."

As the door of Roger's office closed, Mello looked down at his bag of trash. Thinking about what he'd overheard and the implications of it, he contemplated leaving the trash bag behind. He needed to go find Matt as soon as possible.

* * *

L was really getting fed up with the sedative he'd been given. Every time he started to get somewhere with his train of thought, he ended up dozing off and losing track. It was maddening!

The fifth time this happened, however, L awoke to something strange. There was a coffee tray on his room's—no, _the_ room's table. (It _wouldn't_ be his room, even if he spent the rest of his life there.) The scent of the coffee alone was a balm and made him realize just how dry his mouth was. How long had it been since he'd drank anything? A day? Longer? He didn't realize he'd moved toward the tray until he was almost off the cot.

L forced himself to stop before he acted impetuously. He remembered the last time he'd had coffee. The last thing he wanted or needed was more sedatives. Thinking hard, L crouched down beside the table to study the tray. The tray was steel and the little porcelain mug atop it was red. There was the exact number of sugar cubes that he would have chosen for the size of mug he had. The spoon was flimsy plastic. _Interesting_. Now…the real question: was it safe to drink?

He thoughtfully tapped his finger against his lower lip. With the lengths his captor had gone to keep him alive, he doubted it was poisoned. But…there could still be those damn sedatives in it. Still, a human being couldn't go more than three days without drinking and he had no idea how long it had been since the IV had been removed from his arm. If he didn't drink eventually, he would die.

He had to test it.

He glanced at the black strip running along the top of the room from under his bangs. This felt like a dare; a challenge. _Very well, I accept_.

L slowly dropped the sugar cubes into the mug one at a time. There was a faint fluttering of anticipation in his gut as he stirred the sugar in. There was only a two percent chance he was wrong but if he was…. L raised a spoonful of coffee to his lips and sipped it.

It had probably been a good cup of coffee at one time, but now it was cold and had a foul after taste. L let it sit in his mouth for a moment, resisting the urge to cringe, before swallowing the teaspoon of coffee. As he mentally counted out five sets of sixty, L decided that, in all of human history, there probably was never a cup of coffee he would have said "no" to until now.

Unless his counting was off, five minutes passed without anything happening to him. No dizziness. No weariness other than what he'd felt previously. No nausea except for what came with not eating. Other than it being cold and slightly slimy, it was a perfectly normal cup of coffee.

L returned to the cot and sat the coffee beside him when he'd gotten settled. Well, that settled it. Whoever it was wasn't trying to kill him, then. He took a sip of his coffee, trying to make it last. "And now I just need to know where I am and how long I've been here."

"You've been here three days."

The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. L froze. The speaker was most definitely using _his_ voice filter—it made sense, seeing as they would have taken his belongings when they took him—but something was…_off_. Everyone sounded different when using a filter. Two people could use the exact same one and sound completely different. This person…sounded exactly like L did. Same tone, same pronunciation, same speaking speed. If he didn't know better, L would have thought he was talking to himself.

"Who are you?" he found himself asking before he could stop himself.

For a long moment, there was silence. Then, with a slightly maniacal laugh in their voice, the speaker replied, "You're supposed to be the world's greatest detective, Lawliet. If you can't figure out who I am, you're not really deserving of the title, are you?"

L simply sat there, trying not to show any of the apprehension he felt. If he was right, that was the second time he'd been called by his real name. On one hand, he couldn't imagine where his kidnapper would have found it. On the other, that only strengthened the fact that he somehow knew them. That they could imitate him was troubling. At the Wammy's House, his successors were taught to act as him. Could…could it possibly be one of them? He had a hard time believing that.

Actually…he didn't. That was a lie. If B wasn't in prison, he could imagine him doing something insane like this.

But, if it _was_ one of his successors who had a grudge against him, then why would they keep him alive? Why keep him around at all? Was it to boast or…no. It wasn't a boast. It was humiliation; that was all that made sense. But…for them to want to humiliate him, he had to have humiliated them first, right? While he wasn't really affectionate or involved in what his successors were doing, he never tried to humiliate them. The worst was that he ignored them when he didn't feel like dealing with them.

L's mind wandered over those who had left the Wammy's House after he had. A few were dead, a few were leading somewhat normal lives, a couple were trying to follow in his footsteps, and one was in jail. The dead ones were obviously out, as were the ones who didn't really want to be like him. Again, his mind wandered to the one in jail. Could it be him? Watari would have been alerted if he'd broken out though, wouldn't he have?

The problem with thinking like this was that there were too many people to choose from. He could assume it was someone who was intended to be close to him, but that didn't mean anything. Someone he'd put in jail, or someone who was angered by him putting someone in jail, could have learned as much about him as they could and kidnapped him as well. There were no guarantees.

If he had a computer and all his case files, and Watari, he might have been able to figure it out by now. As it was, he didn't have anything but an empty mug of bad coffee. _So where do we go from here? If I try to find out too much from…who ever this is, they could take their irritation out on me. If I don't, I won't get anywhere with this_.

L rested his chin on his knees, nibbling his thumbnail as he thought. That annoying drowsiness was returning. He would not sleep. He would not sleep. He would not sleep. He would not….

Somewhere he could hear bells ringing.

And then the bells stopped.

L wasn't sure what woke him up, just that he had the sudden, terrible feeling that he was in danger. He couldn't move his arms. Gritting his teeth, he opened his eyes to a familiar face.

* * *

**AN:** A wild Mello has appeared from thin air...shall we catch it? Maybe he'd give us chocolate. Or, maybe, I should go and add the rest of the main characters to my little list thingie in the summary. Yes? Yes. ...Next chapter. I believe L is on the verge of a discovery. I'd hate to throw him off of it. He might land far beyond the edge of the story map and we don't want that, do we? Thanks to everyone who's reading...it would be nice to know you're there...


	4. IV: 13 B

**Four:  
13 B**

"Matt, are you listening?"

"Uh-huh."

Mello rolled his blue eyes, doubting that Matt had been listening. He bit off a piece of chocolate from his chocolate bar, and shot back, "Then what did I just say?"

"L's missing, someone escaped from prison, you want more chocolate, Roger's an ass, and you're posing for Playboy soon," Matt said boredly, not looking up from his game. He struggled not to smile as Mello spluttered indignantly at him. Mello made it too easy sometimes. It was all in the haircut, really—or, that's what Matt told himself; fact was, he didn't want to tell Mello he'd spent the first week of knowing him thinking he was a girl. The humor covered up the continued embarrassment easily.

Honestly, though, Mello had been ranting and chattering about L being missing for the last day or so. The only reason Matt hadn't decked him yet was because they hadn't spent more than a couple hours together the day before. If Mello kept distracting him from his game, Matt was throwing something at him and that was the end of it.

Huffing in annoyance, Mello turned away and finished his chocolate bar. He was a little surprised Matt actually had been listening to him (well, except for the Playboy part; he'd never said _that_). Mello could never really tell, what with the nonstop gaming.

"Do you even _care_ that L's gone?" Mello queried, the faintest hint of a whine in his voice.

Matt paused his game and looked up at his best friend. For once, there was absolute seriousness in the gamer's eyes even if he _was_ wearing a half-smile on his lips. "I care about L, but _you_ said Roger and Watari are working on it. What can we do, anyway?"

The question was meant to be rhetorical and so Matt lowered his head back over his game controller and resumed playing.

Mello, however, had actually been thinking over a similar question. What could they do? They couldn't just sit there. They had to do something!

"We could find L," he said, unwrapping another chocolate bar as he looked down at Matt's be-goggled head.

The auburn-haired boy froze and a couple seconds later the "game over" screen popped up over their tiny tv. "Mello…how, and I'm humoring you here, how do you think _we_ could find L?"

Mello's eyes narrowed in determination and he took a large bite out of his chocolate bar. "I have a plan."

* * *

When one of the corrections officers told him he had a visitor, Digit assumed it was someone from his family. He _didn't_ expect to be brought into the warden's office to speak with a man in a leather trench coat and strange hat.

"Is this him?" the stranger asked Warden Diaz.

The warden nodded once, the stern look never fading from his slightly pudgy face. "That's him; Mr. Shaun Lucas. He witnessed everything."

Digit had the bad feeling that this was all to do with his former cellmate. He refused to show that concern, though, not even when Diaz was excused from the room with only a gesture from the stranger.

"Mr. Lucas," the stranger began as soon as they were alone.

"I' 's Digit, man," the teenager interrupted. Something about people who were all proper and shit rubbed him the wrong way. Especially when he couldn't see their faces.

"_Digit_, then," the man amended, putting extra emphasis on the street name. "I am Watari. I understand you witnessed your cellmate's suicide attempt?"

"Suicide?" Digit echoed with a snort. "Watari, right? I'll tell you what I told the warden. Thirteen ain't never been suicidal since I met him. Batshit crazy? Yeah. Not suicidal."

"Why do you say so?" Watari asked. He didn't sit down across from Digit, but neither did he reprimand him when Digit lit the cigarette he had been keeping tucked behind his ear.

Digit hesitated. "You met this kid?" When Watari nodded his confirmation, Digit continued, "Look, some days Thirteen was a'ight. Some days he was a whack job. But if any fool tried to take him out, Thirteen fought back. He…was real optimistic he was gonna get out. Like…he didn't really know he was never gonna go home. Like it was a _game_."

"Are you aware he tried to kill himself before?"

"Yeah, man. Tried to set his punk ass on fire, right? It was in the papers. Ain't never said or did nothin' like that since we was bunked together."

"Until the day he escaped?"

"Yeah," Digit muttered after a second, looking awkward. He was only cooperating to try and get his sentence shortened after juvie, but…it felt weird. Wrong. Like he wasn't supposed to be doing it. Plus, with how Thirteen reacted to people acting against him, he didn't want word of him helping the cops out to get back to the kid. He wasn't a snitch.

Watari was silent for so long that Digit actually wondered if he'd been forgotten about. He couldn't help but wonder who Watari really was and what his connection to Thirteen might be. _Forget about it; 's not your concern. Just stay the fuck away from these freaks when you can._

"I understand your cell was preserved as it was on the day of your cellmate's escape," Watari said after a few long moments. "Would it trouble you to let me see them?"

Digit shrugged. "Whatever you want, man; I don't care."

* * *

They were escorted back to Digit's cell by four officers. Watari stood in the door of the cell when they arrived, not moving or saying anything. Slowly, he insinuated himself into the room. The presence of the one they called "Thirteen" lurked in every corner. Despite the apparent suicide attempt, there was no blood in the room. Watari was directed to where the boy had kept most of his belongings and began rifling through them. The precise neatness of the cabinet was verging on obsessive: clothes folded perfectly, papers and a tatty notebook stacked without a single one being out of place or wrinkled. A clean plastic jam jar full of multi-coloured pens was tucked in back on top of a very thin stack of letters.

There was nothing else in the cabinet.

As Watari removed the papers, notebook, and letters, he added to Digit, "You said he would fight those against him, is that what happened to your hand?"

Digit looked down at his left hand's missing ring finger. "Naw. That's been like that for years."

The elderly man decided not to ask more about it as he pocketed the personal documents to peruse in private.

"Was anything…different about him that day?"

Digit shook his head. "No, he was—" He broke off as though remembering something. "He kinda freaked when he saw that article."

"Which article are you referring to?"

"Here." Digit went over to the other cabinet and looked through a messy stack of newspapers before pulling one out.

Watari felt a prickle of anticipation run through him. He hadn't read his obituary when the papers had released it, but things were starting to make sense. Of course it would have bothered _him_ to see that one of the men who raised him was dead, but…what Watari didn't understand why the article would have encouraged the boy to break out of juvenile hall. _He must have seen through it and realized the implications_.

The elderly gentleman wrapped things up as quickly as he could, wanting to look through the notebook and see if his assumptions were correct. It wasn't until he was back in his normal clothes, preparing to board a plane so he could return to Winchester, that he was free to look through the papers he'd retrieved.

If the handwriting style hadn't matched, Watari would have thought the notebook had been written in by several different people. Each page had been written on with several layers of text and colour; large, black, angry words had been gouged deeply into each page, outlining furious bouts of rage, and were mixed in with light, almost delicate words of apology and fear. Between these conflicting messages were multi-coloured bits of logic, puzzles with an almost maddening level of difficulty, and strange bits of reasoning and sense written in incredibly tiny letters. None of it made sense…or, it wouldn't have made sense to anyone unfamiliar with the writer. But Watari knew him and his style. Watari had known him since he was a child.

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Roger as he turned a page in the notebook. The phone took its time ringing, probably due to the time difference between LA and the UK, and Watari carefully studied the next page: it was a crudely drawn sketch, ripped to pieces and then taped back together carefully.

"Hello?" a sleep-addled voice murmured from the other end of the receiver.

"Roger, it's Watari."

"Watari?" Roger sounded far more awake now and there was a rustling from Roger's end that indicated he was getting out of bed. "Did you find something?"

"Yes. If what I've found is correct…Beyond Birthday has L."

The silence on Roger's end seemed to last an eternity. "Then we'll be lucky to find either of them."

* * *

"You don't look happy to see me, Lawliet."

Déjà vu was painful and it dragged L under as though he was stuck beneath a speeding truck. His reflection was sitting across from him, staring at him with dark, hollow eyes from under a shock of messy black hair. _B…_. The parallels between now and the last time they'd met were not lost on him. The helplessness, the frustration, the humiliation. Same emotions, different situation.

It had been over two years since they had last spoken. At that time, B had been in the hospital; young, angry, and burned half to hell. There was no way L could help him justify killing three people or attempting to set himself on fire. (Actually, there'd been no "attempting" about it; B had set the fire…it just hadn't affected him on the scale he'd intended it to.) L hadn't even tried to help him sort it out. At the time, things had been very cut and dry: B had killed people, B had challenged L, and B had gotten caught and was going to prison. But now…B's last words to him rang through his mind. _"You see nothing, Lawliet."_

But that was years ago. They had both grown up since then.

Looking at B now, L could easily see how he'd failed to recognize him in Japan. Sure, his hair and eyes were the same, but B was too pale and his face was thinner. He was no longer the scrawny, gangly boy from the Wammy's House; he'd filled in quite a bit, wiry muscles widening his shoulders and giving him a more self-possessed air. L also had the slightly annoying feeling that B was probably actually taller than him now. But the bags under his eyes were no longer created by make up and the imitation of L's favored sitting pose had never looked more like the pose of broken down doll.

"I should have known it was you," L told him quietly, pretending he'd never considered B as a possibility to appeal to B's ego. The entire Los Angeles BB murder case had been B trying to exert his dominance over L. L could use that. B might see through it, but L could still try it.

"L knew it was B, but didn't admit it to himself because he didn't want to admit he had failed to keep B locked away."

_Okay; maybe I'll give him _that_ one_. As usual, B's odd speech pattern both unsettled him and grated on his nerves. Still, it was better to let B get this over and done with, and, as such, it was strange when B didn't continue speaking.

Several minutes seemed to pass, and, growing both irritated and a little bored, L lazily glanced up at where his right hand had been bolted to the wall by his head. It was a simple enough affair—metal cuff, handcuff-like lock, clearly detachable—and L was sure, given enough time, he could pick the lock and get out. The key was getting the time to do so. B was staring at him with that unnervingly piercing glare that seemed to miss nothing he did. The second L tried to get out, he was sure B would try to stop him. And, despite how satisfying it would be to kick B in the face, it wouldn't help anything. Not to mention L could tell by the lethargic, tingly feeling in his body and brain that he'd gotten another unhealthy dose of sedative before he'd actually woken up. L felt his head tilt slightly, and involuntarily, as he tried to piece together how long he'd been asleep and, therefore, how long the sedatives kept him sleeping. If he could figure that out….

B frowned, narrowing his too-dark eyes at the man he'd spent his entire life attempting to emulate and surpass. "You just thought something," he decided, jolting L out of his thoughts. Looking far too intrigued to foretell anything good, B shifted seamlessly from crouching to a smooth, cat-like crawl. He didn't stop until he was nearly seated in L's lap, his eyes searching the other's expression intently. "B can't read thoughts…what did you think?"

"I was trying to decide," L replied evenly, keeping as much emotion out of his voice as possible as he tried to make his reasoning sound like he'd given it more than five seconds of thought, "why B would kidnap me. Taking me out of the game would only make it too easy for you to win; all the challenge would be gone."

L expected B to give him a mysterious, answer-less answer. He expected B to expertly dance around L's statement as he had when L had asked who he was. He did not, however, expect for B's pupils to dilate as an almost boy-ish excitement crept into his expression.

"No, no, no, no. Not taking Lawliet out of the game; changing the game _entirely_. Please understand: as long as L is L, B will never be L. B will always be Backup. But…if L cannot be L, and no one knows, then B can be L." B smiled a creepy, slightly sadistic smile at him. "B will, by jam, make sure to be as good an L, or better, than Lawliet."

"You're delusional, B."

B finally sat down, putting a surprisingly large amount of weight on one of L's legs, and said quite rationally, "No, I'm not hallucinating at all."

If L hadn't been staring incredulously at B before, he certainly was now. _Are you sure?_ "Watari, Roger, everyone else…no one will believe that you're me, B. They'll be looking for us both by now. Watari will know the difference."

"And _that's_ why B brought us _here_," B replied as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. In a way, perhaps it was.

"The only way you'll ever pass for me is if everyone who knows me is dead. Including me."

For the first time in his memory, a truly human expression came over B.B.'s face, darkening his morbid enthusiasm with a thin veil of frustration and concern. "Lawliet _will not_ die. Your life…you have _too much_ _time_ left. If I tried, you _would not die_. It is better to keep you safely _here_ until that time runs out."

B's mad third-person referrals may have been the most grammatically frustrating thing since Misa-Misa, but even L had to admit that the sudden switch to such a cold, collected, _normal_ voice disturbed him. The utter seriousness in his tone left nothing to the imagination about what B had in mind to do once whatever "time" B was referring to ran out.

Though everything about the gesture seemed foreign and awkward to him, B reached out and gently placed his scarred hand on L's neck and rested his forehead against L's. "But, until B can be L, Lawliet shouldn't worry. B will take good care of L."

So why did it feel like a death sentence?

* * *

**AN:** I gotta admit, B's a blast to write. I can be as creepy as I want to, and...I really think it works. I could be wrong. ("No, I'm not hallucinating at all" is probably my favorite line in this fic, by the way...) Also, say good bye to Digit; he won't be appearing in the fic anymore. Also: please, please, _please_ review! All this radio silence has me concerned that this is a sucky story, and I put a lot of effort and time into it. As usual, thanks to everyone reading.


	5. V: Hacked

**Five:  
Hacked**

Mello thought he was about to puke and, for once, it had nothing to do with the fact that he'd eaten half a dozen chocolate bars in about the same number of minutes. No, it was purely the crashing waves of anxiety swirling through him. Mello habitually reached for the last chocolate bar in his pocket, but stopped himself. For once, he didn't think he could stomach it. He tapped his booted foot impatiently against the wooden hallway floor, wishing Matt would work faster. They'd been standing outside the door to Roger's office for the last five minutes, and Mello was sure they would be caught if they stayed out there much longer.

But Matt was good with computers and Mello was good with plots, neither of them were expert locksmiths.

"Ha! Owned!" Matt muttered, finally getting the lock opened.

Seeing as Roger had gone to sleep several hours ago, breaking into the office to hack Roger's computer seemed fairly easy. All they had to do was not get caught. Of course, hours ago, in the safety of their shared room, it had seemed like such a simple, fool proof plan. But, now, creeping around the dark hallways of the Wammy's House long after everyone had gone to sleep seemed like a particularly stupid idea.

They both crept into the room and Matt made sure to close and lock the door behind them.

"Are you sure he doesn't have any cameras in here?" Matt hissed, double-checking the door as he took his duffle bag back from Mello.

"Yes!" Mello snapped back a little louder than he'd intended to. Dropping his voice to an urgent whisper, he added, "I didn't see any cameras the last time I was in here."

Matt crawled under Roger's desk, checking for alarms or wiretaps, and murmured a reply.

"Huh?"

"Ow! Damn it!" Not finding anything, Matt dragged himself out from under the desk. He sat there on the floor, orange-tinted goggles skewed, and rubbed at the back of his head. "I said, 'just cuz you didn't see any doesn't mean they're not there'."

Mello huffed in response. "Yeah, yeah…laptop should be in the top drawer."

Matt slowly retrieved Roger's laptop and sat down with his back against the desk. Mello crouched down beside him, glancing at the door every so often—just because the desk was hiding them, didn't mean that no one would fail to see the glow of a computer coming from behind the desk.

"How much trouble do you think we'd get into for this?" Mello asked, the thought finally occurring him.

"Beheading," Matt replied in a deadpan voice, starting up the computer. "At the very least, death by firing squad."

Mello whirled, blond hair swinging wildly, to stare at his friend in horror.

Matt grinned as he started hooking the laptop up to several devices hidden within the depths of his duffle bag. "I'm kidding and you're over reacting. It's not like we're stealing money…or…looking at porn."

Somehow, Mello had the feeling that Matt was still considering that last one.

Time seemed to tick by at an alarmingly slow rate. It felt like hours—days!—had passed while Matt slowly clicked through every file on the laptop and copied the relevant ones onto several flashdrives and an external harddrive. Mello could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Every creak of the orphanage settling sounded like footsteps approaching the office. Every groaning pipe was like voices asking what they thought they were doing. Mello felt like a rabbit being hunted, ready to bolt at any moment. He didn't think his nerves could stretch any further.

"Are you done yet?" Mello finally blurted, not sure he could stand sitting there much longer.

"No."

"Well, hurry up! If Roger comes in we're in deep shit. He's pissed off enough as it is with you sneaking those cigarettes and me trying to teach Near to get over himself and—"

"Mello?"

"What?!"

"Shut up."

"No! This is a bad plan! Why did you let me go through with it?!"

"You threatened to deck me! I told you the plan was crap!"

"No, you didn't!"

"I did, too!"

"Did not!"

"Shut up, or we'll get caught!"

"Don't—"

"No, Mello, I mean it. Shut up."

Mello went quiet at the sudden whisper Matt had dropped his voice to. Matt had quickened the speed of his file transferring, looking slightly frantic, and Mello strained to hear whatever had spooked his friend. Then it hit him: someone was messing with the lock.

"What should I do?" the blond whispered almost inaudibly.

Matt shook his head, trying to clear all evidence that he'd hacked in.

"It could be a burglar…should I try to jump them?" He didn't look half as self-assured as he would have liked.

"What if Watari's back?" the brunette hissed as he unplugged the laptop and began shutting it down. "Or Roger? If you attack them we'll be in worse trouble than if we just get caught."

Mello nodded speculatively, waiting as Matt replaced the laptop in the drawer and closed his duffle bag. Thinking quickly, he crept over to the wall, knowing they wouldn't be seen there when the door opened, and gestured for Matt to follow him.

"What now?" Matt mouthed.

"We wait til they come in, and, if it's Roger or Watari, we sneak past them. If it's a burglar, we attack!" Mello replied with equal silence. He received an eye roll in reply.

The doorknob jiggled one more time before the door slowly opened with a creepy creak. Despite both boys waiting with baited breath, there was no cause for concern: it wasn't Watari.

It wasn't even Roger.

It was Near.

"Hello?" the boy asked quietly. "Is someone in here?"

For once, Mello thought he didn't look self-assured. His snowy hair was practically glowing in the moonlight streaming through the windows and he looked ghostly in his white pajamas. There was a steaming mug in his hands.

Beside him, Mello felt Matt slump in relief. Personally, Mello didn't see what there was to be relieved about. The sheep-haired twit probably wouldn't hesitate to tell Roger that he'd caught them in his office. Blue eyes narrowing in distaste, Mello swung the door shut behind Near, nearly hitting the smaller boy. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I heard voices," Near replied in his usual toneless manner. His free hand had crept up from his side to twirl a lock of his hair meditatively.

"So you decided to spy on us!" Mello snarled, unwrapping his last chocolate bar to calm himself down.

"…no. I thought someone might be trying to rob Roger."

Matt quickly stifled a snicker at this, turning it into a cough when Mello shot him a glare. The elder boy refused to admit that he'd been thinking the same thing as soon as he'd heard Near fiddling with the lock. Mello bit off some chocolate and chewed it to keep from replying.

"Wait," Matt suddenly said, frowning to himself. "What are you doing up, anyway?"

"Exactly!" Mello agreed, leaping on the question with enthusiasm. _Try and talk your way out of this, Near!_

Near stared at them with wide, slightly absent gray eyes. He raised his mug. "I couldn't sleep, so I went to get some hot chocolate. What are _you_ doing here?"

The older boys exchanged looks and Matt guiltily shoved his bag behind his back. Yeah…definitely not going to explain that. Near was watching them intently.

"I locked the door," Matt said suddenly. When the other two looked at him, he repeated, "_I locked the door_." He turned an inquisitive look toward Near. "How did you get in?"

Near reached behind his head and pulled a bobby pin off the collar of his pajamas.

Matt couldn't help it, the stress, the anxiety, collided with his amusement and he let out a half-hysterical laugh. Mello rolled his eyes, annoyed, and jumped when the building settling around them creaked particularly loudly.

"We should get out of here," he told Matt, deciding to ignore Near's existence entirely.

Matt nodded quickly in response and bolted out the door, checking to make sure the hallway was clear. Mello followed him when he didn't hear yelling and they both headed for their room.

Near hesitated, slipping the bobby pin into his shirt pocket. On one hand, Mello hated him for no reason and he really should tell Roger that his office had been broken into. On the other, he…actually did like Mello and Matt and he wanted to see what they were doing in the office. Making his mind up faster than he'd ever done before, Near followed after them with unsteady feet.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Near asked again, catching up with the other two and walking between them.

"Nothing," Mello snapped, secretly surprised that Near could walk more than three feet at a time. He was also a bit sad he was done with his chocolate bar.

"Investigating," Matt said at the same time as Mello, wincing when he shot a look at him over Near's head.

Apparently deciding he'd get more information out of Matt, Near turned to him and inquired, "What are you investigating?"

"L's missing," Matt forced out, giving Mello an apologetic look. "Mello thought we might find info on Roger's computer."

Mello crossed his arms, scowling. "Traitor."

Matt was just about to make a comment about Mello being PMS-y, but was cut off as Near quietly repeated, "L's missing?"

He'd stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, causing the other two to freeze as well. Near's expression may not have changed, but it was the closest thing to real emotion they'd ever gotten from him before.

"Uh…yeah," Mello replied, more than a little surprised that Near didn't already know. Near was supposed to know _everything_—he was just annoying like that. _Stupid, big-headed—wait! I know something Near doesn't?_ In the confines of his mind, Mello was free to imagine one of his more psychotic laughs.

Apparently Matt knew him too well and had guessed what he'd been thinking, for the other boy gave him an "it's really not the right time" look. To Near, he added, "Mello wants to find him."

"I can help," Near said immediately.

Though Matt had been trying to use niceness to keep Near from telling Roger what they were up to, this was too much even for him. He and Mello exchanged long-suffering looks and Matt shifted his duffle bag to his other shoulder.

"No." Mello had crossed his arms again, staring down at Near as though the white haired boy was a misbehaving child. "We don't need help from little, alb—"

"_Kids_," Matt finished, cutting Mello off before he could insult Near too much more.

"I'm only a year younger than you," Near, bluntly, pointed out to Matt.

"You're too little."

Near was quiet a moment, staring back and forth between the older boys. He took a sip of his forgotten hot chocolate, having somehow managed not to spill a drop despite all the fast walking. He lowered the cup and said decisively, "I guess Roger would be happy to know who picked the lock to his office _and_ why his door is still open."

"We didn't mean it like that," Matt said quickly. "Of course we could use another person. …_Right_, Mello?"

Mello stood there a long moment and sighed, glowering at the carpet. "I guess you can help us."

Near smiled brightly, the expression ill fitting for him and, in Mello's opinion, it came off as creepy and demented instead of pleased.

The older blond forced himself to not roll his eyes or make a scathing comment. "Now, can we get out of here before Roger finds us and kills us?"

* * *

**AN:** Uh...Mello, I don't think that much chocolate in such a short amount of time is healthy. And, Near? About trying to join them...you're doing it wrong. Ah, children...what can you do about them? Anywho. Thanks to everyone who's reading! And who reviewed! (Please review more, okay? ^^) I should mention that this fic will be really short...we're nearly a third of the way through it...maybe closer to half, actually. Oh noes! So...yeah. Thanks to everyone reading. ^^


	6. VI: Bittersweet

**Six:  
Bittersweet**

There were two hundred and eight rivets on the walls of the metal room. L knew this because there were four in each of the approximately ten inch panels and both the smaller walls only had six panels, while the long walls had twenty panels each. A slightly mangy cat had also somehow managed to lurk into the room sometime between the last time L had fallen asleep and when he'd woken up. It was extremely annoying. Every time the cat mewed or yowled, it echoed off of the metal walls and interrupted L's train of thought. Sometimes the cat even dared to rub on L's legs while he sat there, thinking. He was tempted to pretend he was asleep just to make B get his damn cat. Or…whoever's cat. L didn't really care as long as it let him think.

At that exact moment, the cat had wandered to the empty bowl of soup—cold, like the coffee, and slightly metallic like it had come straight from a can that could have been sold at any number of convenience stores world wide—that had been left for him. Apparently plastic spoons made for excellent toys, because the cat had decided to bat L's spoon off the table and onto the floor. It pounced on the bowl of the spoon and L felt a surge of vindictive glee as the spoon's handle flew up and whacked the cat in the nose. Annoyed, the cat flicked its tail and went to recover its lost pride behind the toilet, leaving L to, finally, think in peace.

L engaged himself in a staring battle with the tiny piece of cake that had been left for him as he, once more, tried to think of a new angle for his situation. While B's motives weren't lost on him—even if the rationality of them was—L was slightly lost as to what B had meant by…almost everything, actually. When he had last seen Beyond Birthday in that hospital all those years ago, he wouldn't have called him crazy (even if B's psychiatrist _had_). Angry? Misguided? Irrational? Yes. Crazy? No.

No, it was as Misora had said: B was abnormal for the sake of being abnormal. Abnormality was a mask for…for something hidden so deep beneath the skin he doubted B knew it was there. So…was this all a mask? An act for the sake of acting? It seemed too put on for him. Therefore…perhaps this revenge was only because he was _expected_ to _want_ revenge. Perhaps this elaborate act was designed to keep up his appearance of abnormality, if only so someone else could find out the real reason behind it and…

…and…

…and…and the very notion was preposterous.

Because L was a liar. Just as he had lied to Light about how certain he had been that Light was Kira, he had lied to Naomi Misora when he said he had nothing to do with B. He lied when he told Mello the tale of the Los Angeles B.B. murder cases and told him that he had neither truly known B beforehand nor had he known exactly why B had challenged him. And he lied to himself whenever he thought of the case and said he had nothing to do with why B was the way he was. He _knew_ B.

He had met B, and A, when they had first been brought to the Wammy's House. Watari had just explained to the, at the time, quite young L his idea for creating backup versions of L. In his childish mind, L…hadn't fully understood. And he'd been surprised when he'd met the first two children to succeed him. A had been quiet, some would say shy, and withdrawn, but clearly excited. B…had been another story. Easy enough to converse with, but…too intelligent for his age (even for a genius); L had been thoroughly taken aback. Still, even at that age, L had known something was wrong with him. He never knew what it was, but as soon as B had looked at him…L's skin crawled as if it was trying to remove itself from his body and get away from the younger boy. At the time, L had had small cases to occupy himself, and then there were others who joined the ranks of potential successors, and so he constantly was able to push B out of his mind and claim it was just a stupid _kid_ thing.

But B was the outlier: mostly friendless and, instead, choosing to both dress as L did and seek out his attention when possible. It had stayed mildly strange for him until A died. Or…committed suicide. L was never sure which to believe it was. Either way, B had just plain creeped him out after that.

Luckily, as the cases grew more difficult, L had been gone from the Wammy's House for longer and longer amounts of time. His mind became more and more occupied with his thoughts and with cases. In time…he simply stopped thinking about his young doppelganger.

And then B had to ruin his peace of mind by running away. In all reality, L would have been fine letting B off on his own…if only he had thought it was safe for B to _be_ on his own—safe for _others_, that is. Which is why he never attached his name to the B.B. murder cases and why he'd distanced himself from it as much as possible. B was his shame. B was what happened when they took a slightly disturbed, impressionable child, pushed him beyond his means, and constantly compared him to someone he could never hope to do more than imitate. One out of…of…of how many? However many kids had been in and out of the Wammy's House, one out of all of them seemed like next to nothing. But it had driven A (and who knew how many who had left the House) to his death, and it had destroyed B.

L wouldn't think about this in depth, though. He never let himself go far enough down that line of thought to place blame on himself, even if he knew, subconsciously, that he had a hand in making B what he was. The most he would admit is that he lied…often. And, as far as he was concerned, there was nothing wrong with that in his line of work.

But he knew B and the way he thought very well. Regardless of whatever had made B what he was or what could have been done differently, B was still to blame for his own actions. There was something other than just being L that B wanted. All that was left…was for L to figure it out.

* * *

Matt yawned and stretched, then pulled his goggles down from where they were cutting into his scalp to hang them around his neck. He was bored of research—though, to be fair, he hadn't done as much as Mello and Near had in the last twelve hours. A couple hours in, Matt had decided to take a game break, resuming his work an hour later. Several hours later, he'd repeated the process, and so on and so forth.

To be honest, he was a little surprised at how much work Mello was doing. Usually, Mello whined about research as much as Matt did. Now, he was doing it without complaint…though, maybe with more chocolate than was safe for the rest of them to be exposed to. Matt was willing to bet that all this was due to Near. Near hadn't moved from his spot on the floor since he'd sat down to look at the Kira case files and Watari and Roger's latest findings. Naturally, Mello, who had gotten half of the cases previous Kira, would have noticed Near's nonstop work and Matt had a feeling that _that_ was where his sudden motivation came from.

However, Matt was not bound by the same inferiority complex as his best friend and felt completely justified in both taking breaks and going to hunt down lunch when he decided he was just too hungry to deal with yet _more_ work. Low volume shouting was emanating from their tiny tv when Matt returned with munchies. He glanced at the screen just in time to see Kane's chest explode as an alien burst out of it. _Sweet_.

"Find anything?" he asked Mello as he tossed a bag of crisps at him.

Mello caught it with barely a glance up from his desktop. "Do you know how many enemies L's made? It would take months just to look up what's happened to all of them."

In contrast, Near said nothing but remained sitting on the floor, one knee pulled up to his chest for him to rest his chin on. The bag of crisps for him bounced off his laptop and fell, limply, onto the floor beside it.

"So…what now?" Matt asked, plopping down onto his bed as he tried to divide his attention evenly between Alien, crisps, and the giant stack of papers he had yet to finish looking through.

"We keep looking," Near unexpectedly said, making the other two jump. "Anyone that comes up in multiple cases, we investigate further. If we're thorough enough, we _will_ find them."

Mello had frozen, back tense and hands clenched tightly against his desk. Matt wondered if he were mentally counting to calm himself down or if he was clenching his teeth…or if he was even trying to keep from literally biting Near's head off. It wasn't like he could ask with Near present, after all. Whatever Mello was doing, at least it wasn't impeding with the investigation….

"Of _course_ that's what we're gonna have to do," Mello retorted, finally snapping after his prolonged silence. "What, do you think I'm _stupid?_"

"It's logically impossible to be stupid with an IQ that's nearly two hundred," Near replied evenly, twirling a lock of his fluffy hair and not looking up from his work.

Apparently Matt had spoke too soon. Rolling his eyes, he ignored Mello's retort and went to sit by the open window. As he lit his highly prohibited and rarely indulged in cigarette, he sighed. _Some people have issues…_.

A gust of icy wind swept into the room, failing to cool anyone's temper even as it blew away all evidence of ash and smoke. And there was still so much work to be done.

* * *

The dark was calming. No, it would be more accurate to say he _belonged_ to the dark and, therefore, the dark was home. That was what happened when you were a freak kid who happened to know people's names before they said them and who also happened to blurt out when a stranger was about to die. He hadn't really understood, at the time, why it was wrong to say that your father's boss was going to die in a week or that the nice, little old lady down the street only had a day left to live. It didn't matter, though; people didn't like it. Kids wouldn't play with him and adults hissed or avoided him.

His parents had tried to act understanding. _"Darling, you can't say things like that. It frightens people." "But, mummy, I can see…"_ But, it wasn't something they _could_ understand. It was just one of those times when mummy would say everything was alright, while pretending it was just a phase in her mind. While trying to convince herself that she didn't think her son was mad. After all, if his parents had believed him—if they had thought he was _sane_ and honest—they would have listened and they wouldn't have left on the days they died.

Of course, with age, he'd come to realize that it didn't matter where you were: when your time was up, your time was up; you died in whatever manner suited where you were. And, in time, he'd hardened himself against the world. He was a freak. He wore it like a badge of pride. He was a freak and he was _better_ than all of _them_. And…

…and…

…and his hand was numb again. B tore his eyes from his numerous monitors to stare accusingly at the offending limb. Some part of his mind—perhaps the part his ego resided in—always seemed to say that, if he glowered at the limb that was acting up, it would help. It never did, but it was almost ritual by now. Ritual in the same way that sitting in L's favored seating position had become the norm for him. If he wanted to be petulant, Beyond could have blamed his lack of ability to deal with his nervous issues on that fact that he'd never really seen a psychologist for more than a single session after the whole setting himself on fire incident. Not because he'd refused to see one (even if his files said differently) and not because he was a multiple murderer—apparently even serial killers could see shrinks when they needed to. It was because, apparently, he scared them all off.

Making sure his precious jar was safe on his lap, B gently poked at his left palm. Nothing. He tried it again. Still nothing. Giving in with an annoyed sigh, he tried to rub some feeling into the "dead" limb. _This isn't going to work if you don't work with me_. Pinpricks and needles erupted underneath his skin, burning slightly. But the burning was nothing compared to the way real flames felt and the pain faded quickly. He was glad when he was free to return to his jar of jam.

"Lawliet, Lawliet, _Lawliet_," he hummed to himself, licking strawberry goo off of his fingers as he turned his attention back to the monitors. Unless he was hallucinating—unlikely—L had finally given in and was allowing the cat to sit beside him as he sat and chewed his thumbnail. "What will you do now?"

B scooped out more jam and lapped it up. "You aren't the type to wait me out, L, and B has no choice but to wait until Watari stops investigating. So what will you do now?"

He raised the jar to his lips and tipped it so he could sip at its contents. The sweetness coated his mouth almost smotheringly. _Let's play, L_.

* * *

**AN:** Posted this chapter slightly out of order (I was supposed to post this the day after the last chapter) since the next update's not til January. So...this chapter has brought us: info on characters! =D And a very, very important new character. Can you spot them? Also, Near's line "It's impossible to be stupid with an IQ that's nearly two hundred" comes paraphrased from Bloodstained Comma's fic _Friendly Rivalry_. Thanks for letting me borrow it! ^^ Happy Christmas everyone!


	7. VII: Equilibrium

**Seven:  
Equilibrium**

Watari was…at a bit of a loss with everything. L had been missing about a month now. Anyone else and Watari's extensive knowledge of criminality would have told him that the kidnapped person was dead. For some reason, he didn't get that feeling about L; it just…wasn't like him.

Besides, it didn't explain why L's cases were continuing to be solved. Perhaps…perhaps Roger was right and L had decided to go out on his own. Watari beat down the idea. No. It might have just been some form of almost-parental ignorance that made him not want to believe it was possible, but going off on his own wasn't like L. And it didn't fit in with Beyond Birthday's escape and subsequent disappearance. Not to mention Mello, Matt, and Near were acting strange lately. Frowning, he decided that too many things weren't adding up. There were too many…coincidences. Nothing made sense anymore. And, as far as Watari was concerned, they were searching for L on borrowed time.

* * *

L was sick of it all. Sick of the metal room he was stuck in and sick of being watched all the time. He was sick of the shower not working when he wanted it to and of only being able to sit on an uncomfortable cot. He was sick of the tiny, cold tv dinners and cans of soup he was always waking up to. He was sick of cold coffee and only having a single extra cup of water to drink through out the day. And he was sick of the power occasionally going out to leave him in long stretches of utter darkness. But, above all, he was sick of B _not_ doing anything.

It was actually getting to the point where L was almost hoping B would do something to him, if only because L could use it as a way to test getting out.

That was why, after waking up one time (who knew if it was night or day) to his cold coffee and food, L dropped his plastic spoon he'd been left and abruptly moved away from the tray. Well, that and because his tongue and lips were numb. So, B was trying to sedate him again after all this time. _He must be ready to move to the next stage…so what is he planning now? Has the game changed again? Or does he just want me to think it has? Am I looking into this too much?_ There was no telling which was true without taking the sedatives—which he refused to do. Being drugged limited his abilities far too much for his liking. No, if B wanted him drugged, he could come in and do it himself.

"What's wrong, Lawliet?" B asked through his hidden speaker.

L, acting a bit petulantly, didn't deign to answer. Instead he sat down on his cot, holding his knees to his chest. _You're getting complacent, B. I won't fall for the same tricks twice._ It was hard to say "no" to something to drink, though, with how dry his mouth felt.

He forcefully looked away and tried to think of something else. Something, something, anything. Anything that would capture his attention. Almost obsessively, his mind returned to the coffee cup. Unneeded memories of the smooth, bitter taste of coffee on his tongue, the grit of sugar under his fingers, the aromatic scent…it hit him like a two-ton truck and then hit him again. And again.

L drew in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tried to clear his mind.

* * *

Though he had seen news stories about people surviving over a week without water, L had a feeling, given his current state of well being, he would be on the three-day end of the spectrum. That said, the day after B's latest attempt at drugging him, L had still refused to drink anything set out for him. He wouldn't even test it, on the off chance that his self-control snapped and he ended up just _letting_ B sedate him. B was going to have to work for it. He'd said time and time again that he wouldn't let L die just yet, and now was his chance to prove it.

And if B had lied, then…well, B would have lied and there'd be nothing to do about it.

Still, thinking about his possibly impending demise was not a good way to pass the time and there were other, more crucial details to think about. For instance, L was fairly certain (about seventy percent, if he _had_ to put a percentage on it) that he was in a small room in a large complex. He couldn't be certain of the type of complex, but whatever it was had to be completely self-contained judging by the singular fact that the shower hadn't worked since L had stopped drinking, which implied that B had some control of the mains…or L was completely wrong and all B had figured out was how to turn off the water valve in a building. Which, admittedly, wasn't very hard to do. Still, he was favoring the self-contained theory. It didn't seem like B to hide them in an area where anyone could come across them. Plus, that theory was backed up by the amount of small power outages they seemed to have. The unpredictable power supply had given him the idea that they were either in a country with an unstable power grid, or they were far removed from a city and the electricity was coming from a generator. The generator seemed more likely and, seeing as it was always cold in his little room, L had decided they were probably in an older building in the North of…of…he hadn't figured out which country.

L tried in vain to bring up a foggy memory of when he'd first been kidnapped. He knew he'd seen some type of landscape while B was transporting him, but he was unsure if he'd dreamed it or if he'd really seen it. Given how much his head was pounding and how blurry that "memory" was, it seemed more like a dream than anything.

Besides, it was hard to think too much when his heart was mimicking a trapped frog—sometimes jumping erratically and sometimes beating too slow to really feel—and his tongue felt like an old sponge. And, honestly, the sickly feeling it was giving him was worse than the thirst. _No. Get over it. Think. Don't let your personal feelings affect your judgment this time. Think about what you know of B and how that pertains to this case_.

B…well, the almost absolute level of control he exerted over his crime scenes was concerning, but it was a good hint as to what to expect. If he were B, L was certain he would have multiple layers of security. Given that B was the type to do everything himself, L doubted that security was guards. No…if he were B, he would have had to make that security tricks and traps. Unless that was why B was keeping him sedated and keeping the door hidden. Perhaps B's ego had grown to a point where he believed that simple tricks would work better than complicated ones because he was simply better than L. To a point, L agreed that simple was better for both of them. Better for B, in that he didn't need to focus on obsolete details to achieve results. And better for L for the sheer reason that, if he bypassed B's tricks, it would be easier to escape and recapture B. Ideally, all things considered, L would have liked to goad B into telling him what he wanted to know. But he knew B would see through it. If he could see through appeals to his ego, he would see through outright manipulation. Maybe, once he got out, he would sit down and have a chat with Roger and Watari about how they were training his successors a little too well.

If he was honest, refusing to drink was taking too long for his liking. Immediate results were always the best and there was no way to immediately make B react to this stunt. L paused, tightening his grip on his knees. The quickest way to make B react would be to actually attempt suicide. Could he really go that far? His mind immediately brought forth memories of the Kira case. Even when he'd challenged Kira to kill him, even when having to appear on tv because of the second Kira had seemed like a very real possibility, it was always more of a gamble than anything. It was far different to risk your life than it was to do something you knew would end it and, as far as L was concerned, those two instances fell under the risk category. This, however, was something else entirely.

Looking around the room, he could see numerous ways to get B's attention by harming himself. He could bite his tongue or create a situation in which he would asphyxiate. He could pry a screw from any of the numerous bits of furniture or remove a spring from the cot's mattress and gouge his wrists open or stab himself. The lights in the room flickered slightly and L glanced up at them, wondering if he could get up high enough to start an electrical fire with their wiring.

Annoyed with himself, L abruptly shook himself out of that line of thinking. No victory would be gained if he died. (And, if he planned out even a fake suicide, he was certain he _would_ die.) Everything counted on B's desire to see him alive until B had no more use for him. At the moment, it was simply a matter of who as more stubborn; B could see what L was doing, and L knew very well that B was demanding for L to submit. Neither would move until the other pushed them hard enough. If L was patient, he would have a response to his actions in the next twenty-four hours (at the very least). He didn't need to rush this or do anything stupid.

All that was left to do was wait.

* * *

The next morning dawned to the first nice day the region had seen in a long while; everything was coated in a shimmering layer of glittering white that simply begged to be played in. Unless you hated snow. Then it was the first day of the New Year in which it was best to avoid going outside.

L, however, had no knowledge of how the outside world looked. Nor would he have particularly cared to hear it. The sound of his blood pounding in his ears was threatening to split his head in two. He wanted to open his eyes and distract himself, even if it meant staring blankly at the wall, but the light hurt his head, as well. Not to mention that the room swam violently every time he moved—and that seemed to include moving his eyes.

He'd stopped thinking about B's motives several hours ago. It wasn't that he was out of ideas, it was just that he was too lethargic to really focus on them. At this point, though, he didn't even really see a point in thinking them over. It seemed like such a better idea to catch up on all the sleep he'd missed during…well, every case he'd ever worked on really. Yeah, that would work. Some distant part of his mind reminded him that his throat was extremely dry and that he should probably do something about it. L filed away the mental note for later use and rested his head a little more comfortably against his arms, ignoring how that tiny movement made him feel like a ship on an angry sea.

"Hey, are you okay?" someone asked after he'd been drifting in darkness for a while.

L slowly raised his head and looked to his right. A little girl with pigtails was sitting on her knees beside him, wearing a look of deep concern on her round, cherubic face. It didn't occur to him to wonder where she'd come from or why he didn't feel so bad all of a sudden, but it did puzzle him that she seemed to be so concerned about him. "I'm fine, Linda."

"You don't look like it," Linda retorted, moving to sit cross-legged.

L noted that there were ink smears on her hands and more than a couple old paint splatters on her clothes, evidence of her favorite hobby, and he looked away to stare at his knees. He…wasn't good with kids, especially not little girls. Something about them was disarming. Sometimes even dubiously alarming. It was best to just not answer.

"Actually," she added when L didn't reply, "you look upset. Was someone mean to you?"

He watched her out of the corner of his eye, more than a little disturbed by her kindness. It wasn't that no one had ever been kind to him before—Watari, for example, was always very kind to him and tolerated him with more patience than most would have (especially given that he'd always been a bit…_dependent_ on Watari) and he was sure his parents had been kind, though he had no real memory of them—but Linda's kindness was overwhelming. It always had been, too, ever since he'd first run into her at the Wammy's House.

"If you're not hurt…and no one was mean to you, are you scared of something?"

He turned his head toward her fully, giving her such a probing look it seemed he was trying to look into her mind. Did she know his secret? Had she somehow guessed?

"Was it a monster?" Linda asked, completely serious.

Yes, it was a monster. Not one of those ones that caused trouble by stealing children or creating nightmares or eating people, but one that was much worse: a monster who always told lies. The worst of the worst, L thought, because those were the most cunning. They pretended so easily to be normal people, though they knew nothing about human emotion. They never hungered and nothing could stir their interests. They've no knowledge of friendship, because they can never love. Those frightened him the worst, especially the thought of being devoured by one. because Because, in truth, he _was_ that monster. "Yes."

The girl tilted her head slightly, her pigtails swinging. "You're not a monster."

"Are you certain? One hundred percent certain?"

Linda nodded.

L took a deep breath and slowly got to his feet. "I don't know anymore."

He started to turn back to her and a sharp pain flashed through his head and chest. He gasped for breath that seemed to be having a hard time reaching his lungs. Metal walls spun dizzyingly around him and, coughing, he tried to sit back down on his empty cot. It was a little too far out of reach, though. _Damn_. And then the floor was rushing up to meet him.

* * *

B could count on one hand all the times he recalled being actually worried about something. This was one of those times. He'd been waiting to see how far L would push this, trusting his eyes when he saw just how much time the detective had left to live. He'd taken it to mean that L would stop before he dehydrated himself to the point of death. Maybe, as only rarely happened, Beyond's eyes had failed him. Sometimes…sometimes people just died before their time was up. _No_.

Lawliet hadn't even fully hit the ground when B had already begun to make his way to L's room. L _couldn't_ die. It wasn't part of the plan. He had to stay alive. Or…maybe the truth was that B needed L to live if only for the self-gratification that would bring B. Really, he didn't care what the reason was as he half-ran down several corridors and got the door to L's room open.

"Lawliet?" he asked, trying to wake L up. He hadn't even bothered to close the door behind him, instead choosing to crouch beside the man he'd always idolized as he tried to make him regain consciousness. "Come on, Lawliet. I know you're not dead. Wake up."

_Get up. You need to get up. B can't...just wake up! Why won't you wake up?!_

The numbers of L's lifespan were clicking down at their usual rate, but still he did not wake up. He did not open his eyes. He did not move. B's fingers somehow found Lawliet's wrist and a stab of horror went through him as he realized there was no pulse to be found.

* * *

**AN:** I'm back! Rejoice! Or...you know, don't and curse my name. I'm gonna pretend you're rejoicing though. Okay? Okay. Wow, drama happened this chapter. Lots and lots of drama and break downs and people doubting themselves and the people around them. B's plan is beginning to go out a window. And Linda made a cameo...even if it was just in L's poor, deprived head. I'm starting to feel bad about torturing him. As always, reviews are treasures and I beg you for them. Now...I'm gonna go crash in bed and catch y'all in a couple days. Thanks to everyone who's reading!


	8. VIII: Recoil

**Eight:  
Recoil**

"Can you fix him?"

"I might. The fluids seem to be working well enough. It is lucky you called when you did." The click of heels on tile echoed around the room. "But it was extremely irresponsible to allow him to go this far. You should have intervened as soon as you saw what he was doing."

"Spare me the lecture and just fix him."

L was somewhat aware of the fact that he was alive. More than that, he was aware that there were people talking around him, oblivious to his state of consciousness. It was as though he had become nothing more than a pair of ears, able to listen but do no more. His limbs weren't cooperating with him, but his mind seemed to be quickly coming up to speed.

He was in a room, a surprisingly warm room with dim lights but for a single one that was shining somewhere behind him (judging only by the warmth he felt on the back of his head since he hadn't opened his eyes yet), with at least two other people. One male, one female, both aggravated. All he could smell was dust and cleaning supplies; it was…actually a bit annoying.

"I have doubts that this will be that easy," the woman replied tartly, a sigh in her voice. Her heels echoed around him and L felt a reflexive flinch pass through him as she took his pulse then messed with something on his arm. She'd put too much of her Chanel perfume on and the smell was threatening to smother him.

"Don't play games with me, Klein. What do you mean?"

B…_was_ that B? It didn't sound like him, really. Too serious and almost…tired, not maniacal enough. It was disconcerting. Maybe B was a better actor than he'd given him credit for.

As these random thoughts flitted through his mind in response to the conversation around him, L came to realize that his limbs weren't as numb as he'd thought they were. B and the woman were moving away from him and L took the opportunity to see just how far he could move. His wrists could barely move due to restraints, but, under the thin blanket wrapped tightly around him, he could move his lower body from the hips down. At the far-off sound of a heavy door closing, L opened his eyes, ignoring the burning sensation as his eyes readjusted, and found himself staring at a dark ceiling. He was utterly alone.

Abandoning all reason, L promptly kicked the blanket off of him. He strained to get a look at his bonds: three thick leather straps like what they'd used to restrain mental patients long ago. Judging by what he could see and feel, L decided he could most likely get out of two of the straps (about ninety-two percent certain), but the odds of getting out of the third were significantly lower and L didn't like his own odds of survival when B returned. _Chances of retribution: sixty percent. Chances of that retribution ending in bloodshed: forty percent? Yes, that sounds right_. He definitely needed to get free before B returned.

Keeping an eye out, L slowly felt for the buckle of the strap holding his wrists down. It was barely in reach and he slowly began unfastening it.

Where ever L was, he decided it was a bad place to be facing a bout of paranoia. He felt like he'd been dropped into some horror movie about ghosts. Crumbling Victorian brickwork encased the dark room full of dilapidated furniture. The only things missing were the cobwebs, dust, and, of course, the ghosts. It didn't do anything good for L's sense of well-being as he worked.

The first strap finally came undone and L was, finally, able to raise his arms…or, at least up to his elbows. Gritting his teeth to hold back a groan, he struggled to reach the buckle on the highest strap. His hands kept slipping from the cold metal, but, eventually, the buckle released. It took very little effort to make himself try to wriggle out of the final strap.

"Really, I knew you would wake up soon, Lawliet…but still, B didn't think you would get out _so quickly_."

L froze. He'd barely moved a couple centimeters, but his heart was pounding. He hadn't noticed B come back, which was embarrassing itself, and he wasn't exactly happy that his former successor had returned. B was smiling a twisted little smile, his black hair falling into his face to give his eyes a somewhat deadened look. Something about B's stare was making him worried; he felt like he was staring into the eyes of a shinigami.

"I'll admit…I'm disappointed, Lawliet," B told him, ignoring L's continued attempts at getting free as he stalked toward the man he had once called his mentor.

"Disappointed?"

"Yes. B thought that you were smarter than that. You're supposed to be so _smart_, but you're acting so _stupid_." He stopped beside the bed, standing near L's knees, and his demented smirk never faltered. "Maybe B should replace L sooner, after all."

The annoyance and anger was welling back up under L's skin. He felt his face slip into a scowl. _Stupid? Really?_ "You're so single-minded, B…and that's why you will _always_ just be Backup!"

Midway through the last word, L sharply pulled up his right leg, twisted his hips, and smashed his foot into B's face. B stumbled, pure shock etched onto his face as he fell to the ground. He hit the ground with a hard smack, failing to break his fall, and L struggled out from under the final strap. No sooner had L gotten freed, than B's fist crashed into his face and L's head snapped back from the force. In retribution, L swung his leg out in an attempt to knock B off his feet once more. It didn't work as well as planned, and L let out a startled yelp as B came crashing down on top of him.

They tussled, a tangled mass of flailing limbs, both trying to deal the other a blow and trying to get back to their feet. Sweat had made the back of L's shirt damp and blood was dripping down into his eyes, though he didn't remember getting cut. For some unknown reason, he could smell strawberries. He had just managed to stagger to his feet when B pulled his legs out from underneath him, literally, and drove an unexpectedly savage hook into his gut. The air gushed from L's lungs and, before he could get his breath back or lash out, he received another heavy blow to his face. Black dots exploded across his field of vision and he rolled onto his stomach and dropped his forehead to the cold floor in an attempt to center himself.

Somewhere behind him, L could hear B panting.

"You don't have an idea what you did, do you, Lawliet? Bringing another person into this? This was supposed to be between L and B only. And now…."

And now B was going to kill the woman he'd enlisted to keep L alive. He didn't need to say it, L was well aware of this fact. Actually, L was surprised Beyond hadn't already killed her. Whatever the reason for B's delay, L refused to take the blame. If B hadn't kidnapped him, there would have been no need for B to have brought someone in to keep L alive. If B hadn't broken out of prison—no, if B hadn't ran away from Wammy's House and killed three people, none of this would have happened. As far as he was concerned, it all came back to B.

L steadied his breathing and clenched his hands. With how close B was standing behind him, it would be reasonably easy to lash out with one of his legs and knock B off balance. He doubted B would stay down long enough for a second attack, so it would be a matter of dodging whatever B threw at him. He gave it a seventy percent chance of it being another punch—B seemed much more capable with those than anything else (and L was _still_ surprised his nose hadn't been broken yet). From there, he could dodge and use B's momentum to get behind him and knock him out with a blow to the back of his head. Or he could just jump B now and get a grip on his throat and…well, there wasn't much to do from there.

But there was also the personal scope to consider: how angry B was with him and what he planned to do about it. Not to mention that L felt like he'd tried to fight a freight train and lost; it was the drugs coursing through his system, to be sure, but still entirely unhelpful.

_He who strikes first wins_, his mind input dryly. It was up to chance now and to chance he left it as he lashed out once more.

Sometime while L had been thinking, B had knelt down and L almost overshot his kick. It didn't matter, though. B had been anticipating it and used L's plan against him. In an instant, L found himself on his stomach again, B's fingers twisted harshly in his hair.

"_I'm_ not the one who started this," L snarled, barely able to bite out the words as B yanked his head back.

"And _you_ won't be the one to _end_ it," B snapped back, smashing L's face into the floor.

B knelt there, breathing heavily, before he moved to sit next to L. Lawliet wasn't moving, but he was, fortunately, alive. He ran his hands through his messy hair, trying to calm himself. Now…now it was time to try and clean up the mess Lawliet had made. And he knew where to start first….

* * *

The room was almost completely dark, if not for the blue-ish light of a computer screen. There was a light pattering of rain outside the window, but the only sounds within the room was the sound of even breathing and the hum of a laptop's fan. Though Near's attention seemed evenly divided between twirling a lock of his hair and the violently violet rocket ship he was playing with, his mind was focused on the wall of text that covered his laptop's screen.

Matt and Mello were asleep, and Near was taking this rare moment of quiet to review what facts they had. In the past month, they had looked over every case of L's…and found nothing. Near had the suspicion that, if Mello were capable of communicating with him in a non-antagonistic manner, they might have found something by now. Therefore, he had taken it upon himself to go over everyone's files instead of just his own. Mello would be annoyed at him, of course, but that was normal. Actually…Near felt that was Mello's fundamental problem: halfway through, he got emotional and overlooked the smallest, most important details…and _that_ was why Mello was second in line to succeed L and not first.

Near dropped his hand from his hair and clicked the mouse a couple times before typing something in and clicking the mouse again. Newspaper articles flashed across the screen and Near scanned through them at top speed. Lines and lines of text zoomed by, most of them entirely uninteresting. It was remarkable how little he could see of anything relevant to a case of L's; there wasn't even much about Kira anymore, considering how long he'd been "inactive". Idiots, all of them. Near was already considering how far back to look on the news's archives when a heading from the LA Times caught his attention.

_"Escaped perpetrator of the Los Angeles BB Murder Cases still at large"?_ Los Angeles BB Murder Cases…why did that sound familiar? Near got to his feet faster than he even remembered doing before—in fact, he doubted he'd move that quickly even if someone were threatening his _toys_—and made his unsteady way to the desk across the small room, heedless of all the stacks of papers he was knocking over as he did so. His sock-covered feet slid on the loose papers and he quickly sat down before he toppled over, then shuffled back to the laptop once he had the file he was looking for. Near vaguely remembered hearing about the case when L had told Mello about it. But that was years ago and they'd been somewhat secretive about it.

Now that he had his hands on it, there wasn't as much in the folder as Near had thought there would be. A couple dozen copies of crime scene photos in total and notes on all four crime scenes. The first murder, according to the file, had happened on the thirty first of July; Believe Bridesmaid, a forty-four-year-old writer, had been strangled from behind. His body had been left in his locked bedroom and, shortly after death, what had turned out to be Roman numerals had been carved into his chest. Apparently the FBI agent Naomi Misora had discovered the numerals long after the murder and had deduced that they pointed to pages in a book that spelt out the name of the second victim: a thirteen-year-old girl named Quarter Queen. _She_ had been bludgeoned to death and her eyes had been carved out afterwards. The third, and final "real" victim according to L, was Backyard Bottomslash, age twenty-six, whom had died of "massive hemorrhaging"—Near took that as a nice way of explaining that she had been beaten and then stabbed before her left arm and right leg had been parted from her body. The final intended victim had been the killer himself, Beyond Birthday; he'd set himself on fire…but he'd also survived. Misora had been the one to arrest him shortly after putting out the blaze.

Near flipped, almost uninterestedly, to the psych evaluation at the back of the folder. _Beyond Birthday…obsessive…bizarre delusions…believes he can see the names and lifespans of other humans…severe schizophrenic symptoms…danger to himself and to others…recommended treatment: hospitalization and antipsychotics_. The boy in the picture glowering up at him looked far from pleased with the situation. However, on the bottom of the page, in very different handwriting, someone had scrawled: "_B refused treatment. Details of incarceration to follow_."

Near paused. B? Maybe he was looking into it too much, but it…was a little weird, wasn't it? And there was something familiar about the picture…it reminded him vaguely of L. Going off of nothing but a vague hunch and a distant memory, Near hacked into the Wammy's House's servers, using the passwords Matt had previously managed to find for them, and managed to land himself right in the middle of everyone's files. It was tempting to look into his and Mello's files—and, honestly, it was probably only a childish urge to say "see, I'm not the jerk you say I am" that kept him from doing so—but Near went straight for the only file marked "B". There were no pictures and very little information. Everything was restricted and, apparently, required a password they didn't have. Roger would have it, though…Roger probably had hard-copies of all the files, too. There was only one thing on the entire page that was relevant, at all: a name. And then it all came back to him.

For a brief moment, Near's fingers fumbled around until he found the slippery plastic of a game case close to his feet. He chucked it at the bed behind him without looking.

Matt groaned, one of the case's corners catching him on the head, and let out a muffled curse into his pillow. He yawned and slowly raised his head. "…the hell, Near?"

"Wake up Mello. I found our suspect."

* * *

**AN:** Today...has been a truly sucky day. I'll be soooooo glad when it's over. On the plus side, no matter how bad today is at least I'm not going through what L is. My apologies about the lack of editing on this chapter. I'll admit, it's a post n' run kind of day. Cheers. Please review.


	9. IX: After Dark

**Nine:  
After Dark**

When next L awoke, he was back in his little metal room. Alone. A migraine was ripping mercilessly through his skull and he felt more than a little ill. The coldness of the room, for once, was a balm. L slowly sat up and moved to scratch his head, but winced at how tender his head felt. In the shiny metal lining the walls, he could see a nasty, barely healed gash over his right eye—not to mention that the same eye was now black and bruised, the skin around it mottled purple and sickly yellow—and a scratch along his jawline.

A flash of bright colour in the metal attracted his attention, and L turned to look at the room's table. Was he hallucinating? If so, it was very cruel of his mind to make him imagine there was cake and coffee in the room with him. He slowly inched off the cot to stare at what had to be the most beautiful sight in the entire world: two large slices of strawberry shortcake and a pair of full coffee cups. Though some self-righteous part of his mind insisted that it was insulting that B thought he could be so easily bought, L…didn't really care. It was cake. Beautiful, pristine, sugar-loaded cake. And it was, most importantly, _real_.

L purposely ignored that it was an I-know-I-bashed-your-face-in-but-I-didn't-mean-it gesture as he sat down beside it. It was still cold—the cake, that is—as if it had just barely been retrieved from a fridge, and both of the little red mugs were still warm. Neither was really the most noteworthy of things, but it proved that B had brought his offering shortly before L had returned to the waking world. L filed that information away for later use and settled down to eat his cake. The sugar jolted his system awake and, for the first time in a long while, L felt like himself again. He could do this. He could beat B. He just needed a plan.

* * *

Mello tapped his fork against his plate in a persistent drumbeat. He wasn't hungry for breakfast and Matt, sitting across from him, was as talkative as a brick wall. To keep anyone from getting suspicious, Near hadn't come down to eat, so Mello didn't even have him to pick on.

"Mello? You're going to give it away before we even start," Matt muttered, keeping his attention focused the game before him.

"Me?" Mello echoed in a hiss, annoyed. "I'm the one taking all the risk! Are you sure you can get in?"

Matt gave him a withering look in reply and muttered, "Melodramatic."

Near had woken them up at some ungodly hour after midnight and they had spent the rest of the night plotting. Lack of sleep was making Matt grumpy and Mello anxious; add in the pressure of what they had to do…and Matt was certain the day was going to end poorly.

The room slowly began to empty out around them and Mello drifted outside with a group of other children, trusting that Matt would get the plan accomplished. For now…he had to play his part. Mello fingered the firecracker in his pocket, looking for a target, and he had to admit: if he had to be a part of this stupid plan, he was glad he was the decoy.

* * *

Matt wandered upstairs, nose in his Gameboy and apparently not paying attention to his surroundings. Such was the curse of being a gamer that no one thought you knew what was going on at any given time, but Matt was used to it. Actually, this time, it was a blessing in disguise. No one paid him any heed as he wandered the halls nearer and nearer to Roger's office; biding his time. At the far off sound of a gunshot-like bang and distant screams, Matt ducked into a nearby playroom just in time to not be noticed by Roger—who seemed to already know it was Mello at the root of the commotion.

When the sound of hurried, irritated footsteps had faded, Matt saved his game, turned off his Gameboy, and reentered the empty hallway. Roger's office door was closed, but, for once, not locked when Matt tried the handle. _Luckier than Heffner, that_. But, for whatever luck he may or may not have had, he didn't feel any less on edge until the door was closed behind him.

"Why isn't Near doing this?" he wondered aloud as he tried to decide where the personal files would be. "He's the small one."

Matt didn't have much time. Given Mello's history of incidents, Matt knew Roger would probably scold him, then bring him back to the office to sort out a punishment. Which was about ten minutes, if he was lucky; five, if he wasn't.

He glanced through Roger's bookcases and found nothing but…well, the expected. He opened every cabinet, drawer, and dresser before coming to the realization that there was nothing to be found. Matt leaned against Roger's desk, trying to think, and came to the conclusion that all the files were either in Watari's office…or only on the Wammy House servers. This was going to be potentially problematic. They could break into Watari's office if they knew he was away, but getting through the firewall was going to be hard without passwords. After all, Q designed it and everyone in the House knew what that meant.

And then it occurred to Matt to check Roger's desk. The big drawer under the one they'd found Roger's laptop in had a lock in it that made it so obvious Matt could have kicked himself.

The be-goggled boy crouched down and began picking the lock, hoping for extra time. It was _so_ unfair that life didn't have a pause button or some magical potion that would make things happen how you wanted them to happen. The lock finally clicked open and he tugged the heavy drawer open with a grin. _Yeah; when I'm good, I'm good_, he thought victoriously, grabbing the only file he saw marked "B".

His fingers barely closed around it when someone put a hand on his shoulder and cleared their throat. Wincing as dread flooded his gut, Matt looked up over his shoulder and found himself staring at a _very_ angry Roger. The boy dropped the file and closed the door, then got to his feet as beckoned.

Roger brought him around to the other side of the desk, tried to say something, paused, and then sharply said to the boy: "Wait here."

The door slammed shut behind him.

They were screwed, beyond screwed. Clearly Mello had been caught as well, otherwise Roger wouldn't have been so mad. But that brought up another issue: Matt had never seen Roger that angry before, the elderly man white-faced, thin-lipped, and shaking with repressed wrath. It made Matt wonder if this was it for them. He had to stop that train of thought though as he began to wonder what happened to ex-Wammy's House members. Were they excommunicated? Like how the Church did it? Or would he and Mello just be chucked out on the streets to leave since they were both underage and it wasn't like they could do some weird blood in, blood out thing? Or were they just going to have to face some horrifying task to get back in Roger and Watari's good graces? Clearly, whatever happened, this was the end of his and Mello's aspirations to take over for L and to make sure he was saved from a psycho. Near would probably be the one to do it…which would just _thrill_ Mello, he was sure. _What are they going to do to us?_

As Matt pondered the worse, his mind bringing up the scariest moments in all his games and sticking him in the middle of the action without a weapon, the door opened behind him. Matt turned just in time to see Mello and, for some strange reason, Near being led through the door. Mello looked a bit singed and unnerved, but Near seemed as uninterested as always—though Matt noticed the younger boy had made it a point to stay standing for once.

Watari and Roger entered the room behind them—Roger closing and locking the door as Watari settled himself into Roger's desk chair. Matt fought the urge to gulp. Yeah, this was going to be bad.

"We have had enough of this," Roger managed, his voice shaking slightly. "Enough of the sneaking around, enough of the fighting and the drama, and it's time you three told us the truth about what you're doing. No more excuses about being bored or not knowing what's going on or—or—or…."

Roger trailed off into an angry silence as Watari quieted him with a silent look. Somehow the quiet disappointment on Watari's face was worse than Roger's anger and all three boys found themselves looking away from the elderly gentleman's face.

"What Roger means to say," Watari began almost serenely, "is: please explain why you have done this."

It was in that moment the three successors knew that Roger and Watari had known they were up to something from the moment Matt and Mello had broken into Roger's office…the first time…or…the first time it was in regards to L's disappearance. There was no getting out of it and no story that would save them. It was up to luck. And yet slowly, surely, they began to explain.

* * *

Avery Ambers had no idea anything was off that night. Actually, she was feeling pretty good about the world—especially after a few beers. Tonight was the first night in a long time that she was actually going to get to relax. No one knew she had left campus for the weekend and so there was no chance of anyone bothering her about class projects or things they wanted her to do that they could do damn well on their own. _No_, this weekend was all for her.

She wasn't thrilled with this little pub, really. The music was nonexistent—and, when someone started up the ancient jukebox, sometimes it was just _bad_—and cigarette smoke seemed to have become a permanent feature. But the booze were cheap and weren't too bad. Or…at the very least they were relieving the strange cramps she'd been having in her stomach lately. The pain those had been bringing her had started up abruptly about a month previously, but the pain was intense, like a knife in her gut. Each time it happened, the air gushed from her lungs and she doubled over, wanting to scream. If staying lightly marinated in liquor kept those from happening, she was _completely_ fine with it.

That said, her state of mind was probably what kept her from noticing _him_ come in. The bar was fairly out of the way and so there was a fair amount of empty seats, but the newcomer had sat down beside Avery, no questions asked. The nerve of it shook her out of her beer-induced stupor and she turned to fix him with an annoyed glare, fully intending to tell him to fuck off, and froze. Why did this always happen to her? Why was it always the good-looking, but weird guys that sat next to her? That always made things difficult: it was like telling a puppy to go away, she just couldn't do it. Avery sighed. She could do this. _Be gentle but firm! Just get it over with!_

'Uh…do you mind?" she blurted at the guy and immediately she wished she hadn't said a word. So much for being gentle and firm. The guy looked up from the drink he'd just received and stared at her with too-dark eyes from under a shock of overly-long black hair.

"Am I bothering you?" he inquired after a long minute. He didn't sound really…interested or like he cared that he might be bothering her. Instead, he sounded distant and a little moody, like he was only asking because it was the polite thing to do and he had nothing better to do with the time.

"No," she amended out of courtesy, then mentally roused herself enough to gesture to the room at large and add, "But there is a whole bar full of empty seats."

The guy stared at her for another moment and then, with exaggerated slowness, as if he'd never even known they were in a bar, turned to stare around the room. Indeed, there were empty seats everywhere. After all, discounting Avery and her unintended guest, there was only four patrons. When his stare returned to Avery, he frowned slightly and gave a tiny nod. "I understand."

And, with that, he got up and moved to sit in a corner beside a steamed-over window.

She shouldn't have felt bad, really she shouldn't have. And Avery knew it. Every vibe the guy was giving off said not to touch him or to get too close—really, staying away was probably a good idea—but Avery had the misfortune of being a very emotional drunk and, to add to that misfortune, guilt happened to be the prominent emotion at that time. Annoyed with herself, she picked up the drink and went over to stand beside the guy's table. He neither asked her to leave nor did he acknowledge her. Avery didn't bother to ask if he minded if she sat down, and…sat down anyway.

Too-dark eyes swiveled toward her and seemed to dare her to say something.

Avery shivered, not understanding where a sudden flicker of unease was coming from, and quickly said, "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I've had a shit month and I didn't want any company, so…."

She trailed off into silence, but the guy never said whether or not she was forgiven for the rudeness. She assumed she was though, because, somehow, someway, they'd started talking about anything and everything that came to mind. He listened more than he talked, but, really, that was a good thing because Avery couldn't keep up with all his sudden jumps in thought. Despite the awkward start, she couldn't help but feel…comfortable.

Hours passed in minutes and soon Avery came to the startling revelation that it was nearing on two in the morning. She'd been there over six hours. Horrified by the late hour and at the thought of having to drive back home later that day, she said good night to her newfound companion and departed.

It was bitingly cold outside, the chill nearly enough to startle her into sobriety. She hadn't thought to bring her coat into the pub from the car and she hadn't packed any scarves or hats. Chiding herself with the thought of freezing to death, she half ran to her car. A distant part of her mind noted that her car was the only car left in the parking lot as she fumbled with her keys. She couldn't wait to get out of the cold and into her nice warm bed.

Dreaming about going home meant she didn't hear the footsteps behind her, approaching quickly. In fact, she didn't realize she wasn't alone until a hand closed over her mouth. She started and tried to get out of her attacker's grip, but they fastened an arm around her neck, cutting off her breathing. She couldn't scream, couldn't breathe, and couldn't get away. Blackness began to eat away at the edge of her vision and her limbs grew heavy. Before she could even come up with a plan to get away, she had fallen into unconsciousness.

Her attacker didn't hesitate at the sight of Avery going limp, he unlocked the trunk and deposited her within it. It was unfortunate that things were progressing like this to the point where he needed a backup plan like this. That said, if his math was right—and it almost certainly was—it wasn't like she had long to live, anyway. Avery had looked ill even in the pub's dim lighting and that combined with her lifespan…really, it was like it was meant to be.

B made certain the trunk was locked before rushing over to the driver's side door. He was all too aware that the longer he took, the greater the chance that L would be gone when he returned to him. He couldn't afford to lose Lawliet now.

He'd barely gotten the car turned on when his phone began ringing. No number was displayed, only a single "X" when he checked the caller ID. His mood dropped even lower as he flipped the phone open.

"Beyond?" a cold, sharp voice on the other end snapped.

"Yes?"

"You're late. Have you disposed of the detective yet?"

Though his heart was pounding in his ears, he sounded frighteningly calm as he replied, "Oh, no…there was a problem and B…can't quite find him yet."

The voice on the other end of the line was silent for a long moment before, clearly not pleased, they offered a single piece of advice: "Look harder."

The line clicked dead.

B snapped the phone shut and dropped it carelessly in the car's passenger seat before pulling out of the parking lot and onto a nearby road. No. The last thing he could afford to do right now was lose Lawliet. Frowning at his reflection in the rearview mirror, he, not for the first time, began to wonder if this was getting to be more trouble than it was worth.

* * *

**AN:** Ooooh, mysterious stuff is goin' down! Poor kiddies, getting caught like that. Of course they couldn't get too far with their investigation on their own. They may be geniuses (genii?), but they're still kids. Well, maybe if they're story's good enough, L will share his I-know-I-bashed-your-face-in-but-I-didn't-mean-it present with them. Not with Avery, though. Because this is what happens to most OCs in my stories: they get kidnapped by psychos who have questionable plans for them. Yepyep. Well, I'm off to hunt down coffee and lament that there's only four chapters left in this fic. Ciao for now! Please review, okies?


	10. X: Confliction

**Ten:  
Confliction**

"What do you think our punishment will be?" Matt asked quietly, not gaming for once.

He was unsure how long it had been since he, Mello, and Near had been asked to sit and wait outside the office while Roger and Watari decided their fates. It felt like hours had passed. It made Matt, and Mello, concerned about what that might mean. That said, neither boy was certain if Near realized or cared about just how much trouble they might be in. He'd curled up on the floor and was tracing invisible numbers into the floorboards while the two older boys had tried to figure out what was going on.

"We shouldn't _get_ punished," Mello grumbled, tearing a chocolate wrapper to pieces in his hands.

"We should have asked permission before trying to find L on our own," Near observed.

Mello scowled at him. "No one asked you."

Near looked up from the floorboards and, for the first time Mello could really remember, looked the blond in the eye as he said, "So what? At this point, what does it matter if you asked me or not? I'm stuck in this with you. You might not be able to see the big picture, Mello, but that doesn't mean I can't. I can say what I want about it, too."

They glared at each other, neither knowing nor caring that the voices coming from the room behind them were a little quieter than they'd been before.

"You guys need a room?" Matt inquired after the prolonged silence had grown uncomfortable.

Mello turned away from Near, crossed his arms, and leaned back against the wall. "Not now, Matt."

"You sure? I don't want to stop you."

"Bite me," Mello snapped, getting annoyed.

"I thought you said not in public, Mels," the brunette replied teasingly. He shut up when the look Mello sent his way suggested Matt had five seconds before he was going out a window.

Unsurprisingly, Near had already gone back to ignoring them.

They fell silent again, listening to the rise and fall of voices in the office as well as the sounds of the other kids around the House. None of them were willing to test Roger or Watari's nerves again and so none of them made an attempt to rejoin the general populace. They may have all been fools for trying to go after L on their own, but that didn't mean that any of them were dumb fools. That said, Mello was glad no one passed by to see the three of them standing there like this—he was certain they looked ridiculous right about now.

The trio remained by the door until dinner arrived and they were informed that more time was needed in sorting out their punishments and so they were to go about their evening as usual. Once dismissed, Near disappeared in the general direction of his room and Matt and Mello in theirs. Neither the chocoholic nor the gamer felt like listening to all the little kids talk about how great their day was and, instead, sought refuge in their room…but it provided little comfort. Mello only half-heartedly gnawed at his chocolate bar as he flipped through a book without really noticing what it was about. Matt didn't get far beyond the start screen of any game he tried to play. Both of them had bigger concerns.

As far as they were concerned, this was probably their last night at the Wammy's House; after all…why else would Roger and Watari need an entire night to sort out what to do with them?

The next day dawned cold and gloomy, threatening snow upon the land, but, by the time the trio had been called to Watari's office, the weather seemed a bit more bipolar, with moments of dazzling sunlight and other moments of dusk-like darkness from cloud cover. Someone a bit less logic and fact based than any of the boys might have taken it as a good sign that there was a hint of sunlight on the horizon. They, however, did not.

They filed into the office, not looking at each other or either of the adults. And then Watari explained their sentencing.

"Roger and I spent the evening discussing what to do with you three," he told them, expression giving nothing away despite the formality of his tone. "After much debating, we and several other members of the Wammy's House have decided…."

_Decided what?!_ Mello mentally screamed when Watari trailed into silence, unable to wait. If they were going to be chucked out, they should just get it over with! And, really, what else were they going to do with them if they had to confer with the letters who had already left?

"Are we going to be excommunicated?" Matt blurted out, worry lining his face.

Roger, who had been looming silently behind Watari, looked down at his friend with something like amusement and the corner of Watari's mouth lifted in a small smile. "Not today."

Mello and Matt turned to each other with bright grins, relief swooping through them to alleviate them of their concerns. Even Near finally looked up from the floor directly in front of him.

"However, we both agreed we need to impress upon you the seriousness of what you might have done," Roger added, sending the boys' hopes crashing back down to the depths.

"Attempting to find L on your own was exceedingly foolish," Watari said sternly. "You could have needlessly put yourselves in danger when you should have, first and foremost, come to us. Therefore, Roger will be issuing your punishments…which you will be carrying out for the next month."

Though Near had no reaction, both Mello and Matt managed to nod. They both knew that whatever Roger had in mind for them was nothing compared to what could have happened. They'd gotten off easy.

"What are we going to have to do?" Mello asked with a slight wince.

"In a moment, Mello," Watari replied with a gesture telling him to wait. "When we spoke with the others, Q had a…very interesting proposition—one that I was considering, myself."

_Shit, now what?_ the blond boy wondered, unsure if now was a good time to start coming up with excuses.

"On top of your punishment, you will also help us find L."

The room became so silent Mello was unsure anyone was breathing. Shock coursed so strongly through him that, for the first time in…ages, he was speechless. He felt like he was separated from his body, and so, unable to control himself, he blurted the first thing that came to mind: "_What?_"

* * *

The tenth time Near was directed to dial in the phone number, he expected it to be the same as before: a minute or so of ringing, then a cut to voicemail. Roger had decided to call it a night an hour or so ago, and Watari was beginning to look like that sounded like a good idea to him. Matt and Mello had taken refuge in a far corner of the room and Q, only present through the computer call they'd started just after Watari had explained that they were going to try and track L's phone, hadn't said a word to anyone in hours. Near had the great desire to get this over and done with. Why had they asked him to make this call?

All these things taken into account, it was a great surprise when the line rang longer than previously and, eventually, picked up.

"Hello?" the voice on the other end inquired, dragging the word out awkwardly as though he'd never heard it before.

Near's heart seemed to skip a beat, though uncertainty was coursing through his veins.

"Hello?" L repeated. "Is someone there?"

"Who are you?" Near asked, his brows narrowing. He couldn't place it, but something in "L's" voice didn't sound right. There was an edge to it that was…abnormal. If he was wrong about it, he could apologize to L later, but he was certain he wasn't wrong.

From their corner, Matt and Mello looked up at him anxiously and the blond clambered to his feet. Watari straightened in his chair, frowning at the tone in Near's voice. However, Q, unseen on the computer, said quietly, "I'm starting the trace. Try and keep him on the line as long as possible."

Near didn't need to be told twice.

"I could ask you the same thing," the person on the other end of the line replied, reminding Near that he was using a voice filter.

"What's he saying?" Mello mouthed, only to get a cross look from Near in reply. Matt and Mello might have been good at spying on people, but this was one keyhole they weren't listening through.

"If you were really L, you'd know who I was," Near taunted. "But, if it matters to you that much, you can call me N."

There was silence on the line for a brief second, making him concerned that the other person was going to hang up. Then there was a short, somewhat mad laugh and, dropping all pretenses, a sly voice crooned, "Nate River, is that you?"

Something like horror crashed down upon the white-haired boy and, involuntarily, he felt his gray eyes widen and his grip on the phone grow slippery. How? How did he know that name? No one knew his name—not even L had. It took him a moment to realize he'd referred to L in the past tense and he tried to put it from his thoughts. "Possibly," he allowed and, with a slight, mocking smirk, he added, "So it is you, Beyond Birthday."

If Mello wasn't trying to listen in before, he certainly was now, standing so close it made Near uncomfortable. Luckily, Watari pulled Mello back before Near could manage to kick him.

"Mmm-hmm. B is…admittedly, surprised," B told him, though he didn't sound very surprised. "Surprised that you found me all on your own…but it wasn't _all_ on your own, was it? You had help didn't you?"

"What have you done with L?" Near asked, cutting through B's musings. He didn't have the patience to deal with psychopaths right now, especially not ones that knew his real name.

"L is…a little tied up right now. If you really want to talk, you can talk to me, though. After all, we have a lot of catching up to do, wouldn't you say so, Near?"

"Yes," Near agreed, wondering how much longer Q needed to trace the call. "Why don't we start with why you weren't good enough to stay here?"

"_Near_," Watari scolded warningly. In contrast, Matt gave a low whistle and muttered something about a burn while Mello stared at him with something like shock from behind his chocolate bar.

"Fine," B spat. "But only if we finish it with how your lack of creativity is keeping you from solving more than simple puzzles on you own. Really? You can't even track B without others to help you?"

He was silent a moment, gritting his teeth as he remembered why he'd once disliked interacting with B. How had he even been considered for L's successor when he had less sanity than L had socks? "Arguing with each other is pointless—we aren't going to get anywhere—but, if you think we're so pathetic, why don't you just hang up?"

From the computer, Q hissed, "Keep him on the line!"

"But, if I hang up, we can't play, Nate. B knows how much you like games. Don't you want to play?"

Near licked his dry lips as his free hand came up to twirl a strand of his hair meditatively. He was keenly aware that he should ask Watari before making a decision or even deigning to consider an answer to B. But everyone was looking at him right now, watching his every move, and…and he needed to step up and take charge if they were going to trust him to make the call in the first place. "A game? What are the stakes?"

"Yes. Hmm…let me think," he replied slowly though Near didn't believe for a second that B didn't already know what he was going to say. "How about this: if Near and Watari can find L, they can keep him. If they can't, then B decides what to do with him. I think that's fair, don't you?"

"You're not giving us any choice."

"No. This is a one-time offer. You are interfering with B's plans. Either we play, or you stop. Do you understand?"

Near shot a look in the direction of Q's screen, knowing Q could see him, even if he wasn't being seen.

"I have his location," Q informed them.

"Deal," Near replied.

"Tag," B told him. "You're it." And the line went dead.

"What deal did you agree to?" Watari asked the moment Near hung up the phone and set it down.

Near sat there, thinking quickly as he twirled his hair between his fingers. "B's decided that, if we find L, we can have him back. But, if we can't, B will decide what to do with him."

"Then we've no time to waste."

* * *

It was dark, too dark to mean anything good. L sat on his cot, trying to think despite the fact that the power outage was wreaking havoc on his senses. He was used to minor blackouts, but this one had gone on for much longer than the others had. In the utter darkness, every tiny sound was amplified to the extreme. He couldn't help but sit there, waiting and waiting for some sign of danger. L jumped slightly as something brushed against his feet and he mentally cursed C. Why the cat—so named because its collar bore only a single letter "C"—liked to rub on him was a frustrating mystery.

The jingling of C's collar signaled its departure as it headed toward the wall toward L's right. Unfortunately for L, this did not signify the beginning of him being able to think again. The cat slunk over to the wall and crouched down, unseen by L, before vigorously scratching at the sheet metal.

"C," L admonished before adding a little more forcefully, "_C_, that's enough."

C was undaunted, scratching harder than ever, its claws making an annoyingly grating noise against the wall. With a heavy sigh of annoyance, L hopped to his feet and shuffled over in the direction he thought the cat was lurking in. Sinking down to his knees, he felt around until he got his hands on C. The cat gave him a very offended yowl and slipped from L's grasp. Attempting to catch the furry nuisance, L slipped and crashed into the same patch of wall C had been clawing at.

The strangely hollow bang that resonated through the room gave L pause. Why…did the wall sound hollow? Was it just his imagination or could he feel the tiniest wisp of cold air brushing against his fingers? Intrigued, he laid down against the icy floor and tried to peer through the gloom. And then he saw it: a crack, barely wide enough for a strand of hair to fit through, with faint, murky light shining through it.

Slowly, he realized he was shaking with some unknown, inexpressible feeling. After all this time…he couldn't believe he'd finally found the door.

* * *

**AN:** Hmm...Avery isn't appearing in this chappie and L's found a door! And, once again I'm talking to myself. Hello? Any readers out there? *hears an echo* =( If anyone's reading this, please leave a review? I'd really like to work on a sequel, since this is ending in three chapters, but I won't work on it if no one's reading...


	11. XI: Impact

**Eleven:  
Impact**

The clicking of weapon safety checks were barely audible over the sound the helicopter's engine and rotor.

"You do realize he's probably not armed, don't you?" Roger called to his companions. He didn't like this, any of this, but what else was there to do? After all, he wanted L back as much as the rest of them did, so it wasn't like he could just refuse to help. That said, he wasn't exactly thrilled that no one was really in charge of the House back in Winchester and all the guns around him were making him nervous.

"If there's anything you've taught us," S called back, handing a pistol up to Z in the cockpit, "it's to be prepared for anything."

Roger frowned and, to the second person in the cockpit, remarked, "You've trained them too well."

Watari smiled grimly to himself.

To Roger's right, J was keeping quiet, carefully refilling her clips and making sure all her equipment was in the right place. Her seriousness was a balm for Roger, who much preferred they keep focused instead of joking around. They were too far away from civilization for joking, he felt as he looked out the cabin windows at the frozen land beneath them. If L was out there, what sort of state would he be in? If something happened and the helicopter couldn't take them home…what would happen to them? It may have just been the pessimistic worrying of someone who usually had to worry about children all the time, but he couldn't help it. If anything happened….

Z flew them toward an abandoned town: a small jumble of frozen, rusting building carcasses that looked as though some enormous hand had just dumped them down beside the sea without any care as to why they were there. _B has him here…?_ Why didn't that sit right with him?

"Set us down at the edge of town," Watari instructed. Z didn't speak, instead choosing to nod once before circling the town to find the best place to touch down. As Z flicked switches off upon landing, headsets were passed out and there was a final check of supplies for those who were actually going out to find L.

J and S hopped out of the helicopter, snow crunching loudly under their feet. The wind was nearly nonexistent and snow was falling softly, barely hindering visibility. Z followed them, stopping only to check her boots and the knife hidden within.

"Be careful, Quillsh," Roger murmured as Watari carefully made his way out.

Watari inclined his head slightly. "The same to you, my friend."

What could potentially have been a touching good bye was ruined as S crowed, "Hey, Zuney, you're all grown up now; how's that work, eh? You're…actually kinda hot…."

Z slowly raised her head and straightened up, staring at S with a look that would have blasted him to pieces had there been any power behind it. "It's _Zanir_, you ignoramus motherf—"

"That's enough, children," Watari told them, placing a restraining hand on the young woman's shoulder as he slung his rifle over his shoulder. Behind him, J was smiling for the first time this voyage and Roger was trying to remember why he'd accepted Q's insistence that he should go along with the group.

At Watari's intervention, they split up: J and S in one team and Watari and Z in another, with Roger manning communication in the chopper. It had been Watari's idea that L was probably being kept underground, but everyone had also agreed that a warehouse was a good idea, as well. Unfortunately, the entire town seemed to be made of warehouses in varying states of decay. If B had security in the form of guards, there were too many good places to hide them. If he didn't…the paranoia was enough to keep everyone a little too concerned for their own good.

The streets were deserted, the snow undisturbed by tire tracks or footprints, but Z still moved from cover to cover, keeping her pistol out at all times. Though Watari was only slightly less on edge, but the safety was still on his rifle and he had not drawn it yet. He understood perfectly well that Beyond might have people to attack them for getting too close, but he still had hopes that he could talk some sense into the boy. He had to have hope—hope for both B and L.

"Are you picking anything up, Ruvie?" J asked over her headset, already out of Watari's line of sight.

"Nothing," Roger replied, the line crackling violently. "There's…an abnormal amount of interference in the audio, though."

S gave a tiny huff. "We noticed."

"Everyone keep on your guard," Watari instructed before the others could gang up on Roger. "No one take any unneeded risks."

"Easier said than done, Watari…but we will try," J replied soothingly.

And they continued on.

* * *

L was beginning to think there was nothing worse than waking up after being drugged. After all this time, he'd still not gotten used to it. He poked through the foggy veil of unconsciousness and struggled to open his eyes. The power was, apparently, back on and the light was blinding after being in the dark for so long. Slowly, groggily, he raised his head from his knees and squinted around the room…and felt a twinge of surprise and suspicion stir in his gut. B sat against the wall—against the same panel L was certain was the door out—watching him carefully. He didn't look too well off though, L decided. Actually, B looked like he'd gotten into a fight against something with claws, judging by the long red scratches on B's neck, disappearing below the collar of his shirt. His hands were so badly scratched that the cat, which was purring at B's side, was actually lapping blood from B's fingertips.

A sinking feeling had taken up residence in L's gut, dragging his stomach down to the floor. Something was very wrong here. Aside from the obvious. Why was B looking at him like that? With a sort of finality that seemed to suggest something horrible was waiting in the wings for them? Why was he getting the feeling that B was saying a silent goodbye?

"Beyond…what have you done?" L demanded, his monotone sounding incredibly loud in the silence he was so accustomed to.

As though the question had gathered his resolve, B met L's eyes and evenly replied, "I did what I had to. You should know in advance that B is…sorry."

It took a moment for L to find his voice again. "What are you apologizing for?"

* * *

The snow had stopped falling, but it wasn't any less cold out than it had been ten minutes previous. Headset chatter was nearly nonexistent and the silence was beginning to gnaw at Watari's nerves. Why hadn't they found anything? Why was there no guards here? Had Q been wrong about B's location? It wouldn't have been surprising if B had diverted them by faking the origin of the phone's signal. _We're running out of daylight_.

"One second," Roger's voice came suddenly.

Z stilled when Watari did, her gun still at the ready and her eyes darting around so she stayed alert.

"There's an outgoing signal."

"Can we decipher it?" Z asked, cutting off J and S before they could get more than a syllable out.

"Of course I can," Q replied in a 'duh' tone. No one was quite sure when he'd gotten into their com channel, or who told him about it, but no one was too surprised. Techies were just weird like that. Especially techies that Watari had trained.

Knowing that Q would be ready when he was ready and that L was not in a position for them to be waiting, Watari began walking again. Z followed closely behind him.

"We found tire tracks," J informed them. "But I do not think they are fresh."

"No sign of the vehicle, either," S added. "Someone's definitely been here, though."

Z frowned and looked down at her feet, prompting Watari to ask her what was wrong. "They're right," she replied. "The roads are too clear and there was a blizzard last week with whiteout conditions. There's no sign of meltage and reicing, either."

Which meant someone had cleared the snow away. Which meant it was more likely than ever that B hadn't tricked them. So why did he feel so on edge…like they shouldn't be there? He was almost certain that, if L was in his place, he would not be here if he had as bad a feeling as Watari was having. "We should leave."

"I'm patched in. Uploading feed to com channel now," Q said, cutting through Watari's thoughts and doubts.

The line crackled violently and gave a harsh squeal of feedback before it cleared. Watari heard, for a brief second, S muttering something about needing warning before a scared voice could be heard through the static.

"H-hello? Hello? Is anyone there? _He-llo!_ I know someone's there!"

"Good god, that's not L," J breathed, her gasp punctuating her words with a small crackle. "It's just a girl."

"Hello?" the girl said again, though it no longer sounded like a desperate plea for help. "Someone—you heard me?"

"Yes, we can hear you!" J replied.

Quietly, mistrusting, S said, "Don't talk to her, J, it could be a trap."

"J?" the voice repeated. With a slight groan, she muttered, "Oh no. Not more letters."

_That_ caught Watari's attention and he and Z exchanged looks. "More letters?" he inquired as kindly as possible. "What are you talking about, may I ask?"

There was a sigh and the girl scoffed. "Like you people don't know! I've had enough of this! The Bs and Ls and—_I just want to go home!_ Let me go!"

"L?" Z mouthed with a frown, moving her mic from her mouth beforehand.

Watari nodded once, also having caught it. This girl, whoever she was, had to know something. She could be invaluable if she would realize they weren't working with B and they could help her.

On the other end of the line, he could hear the girl sobbing in earnest now. In the most soothing tone Watari knew, he said, "It's alright. Listen to me. We can help you. First things first, my name is Watari. Can you tell me yours?"

"A-" she hiccupped. "-Avery. Am-Ambers."

"Very good, Ms. Ambers. Thank you. Now, can you tell me where you are? Anything about it at all?"

"No. I can't see anything. He covered my eyes." She sniffled, finally stopping hiccupping.

"Ms. Ambers, you can call me Jun," J said, ever calm. "Aside from Watari, my friends Zanir and Silas are here with us. We need to know where you are if you want us to help. Is there anything you can tell us? Anything you can smell or hear? Anything you saw before Beyond blindfolded you?"

"Beyond? God, that's a _terrible_ name," Avery sniffled, sounding close to hysterics. "I-I don't know. I didn't see anything. It was _dark_."

"Try to focus."

Avery took a deep breath and went quiet. Z tapped Watari's shoulder and gestured that they should begin moving again. She was right. They were out in the open, no cover where they stood at all. If B had any sort of human protection here, they made perfect targets in their current state. Especially if they were really talking to a hostage.

"Um, well, there is something," Avery managed after a moment. "I can hear water. And…I can smell fish. And…old cars?"

"I saw a building like a fishery at the north end of town as we flew in," Z informed the group as she peered around a corner.

"We'll meet you there," S replied.

As they crept along, Watari tried not to get his hopes up. Just because this girl was there didn't mean anything. It didn't mean L was there. It didn't mean they were going to get him back or that B had been honest with Near about them getting L back. For all they knew it was a "take him…if you can" situation and B had no intentions of honoring his words. For all they knew…this girl wasn't even a real hostage. That said, he was still trying to also figure out what smelled like old cars. In all his long years, he'd come to realize that the only things that smelled like old cars…were old cars. Machinery usually smelt like hot metal, oil, and the sour tang of machine parts and ozone.

As they neared the fishery, Watari became aware of how still and quiet everything was. He could hear the far off sound of tree branches rustling and the soft _plop-plop-plop_ of water lapping against the tiny, semi-frozen wharf nearby. Somewhere nearby something wet was dripping onto hollow metal. But where they walked? Nothing. And it really made him wonder….

S and J were already waiting for them by the enormous, rusted doors when they arrived. The fishery looked like it might collapse at any moment, but they had to try it. Had to see. S didn't wait for orders and he flung the doors open with a grunt and help from Z. The first thing that struck Watari was the strong smell of fish and crude oil on the breeze. The second was how dark it was inside the building.

"This is gonna be cramped," S muttered, trying to peer through the gloom.

"No guns," Z said decisively, finally holstering her pistol. "We don't want to hit each other."

Frankly, Watari felt like they hadn't needed their guns from the beginning. B had set himself on _fire_ to prove a point to L. A gun wasn't going to change his mind about anything. In fact…Watari wouldn't have been surprised if B would rather die than give this up easily. Whatever happened, force wasn't going to change anything anymore.

"Cover each other and don't rush in," Watari told them with stern but knowing look. "B is not the priority. L, and now Ms. Ambers, are. Once they are safe, then we can worry about B."

He stood in front of the doorway and wouldn't move forward until everyone had given their assent. Once they had, Watari crept forward, trusting the others to follow him. Everything smelt like dust and dirt. There was a window at the far end of the hall, but it was so choked with mud, snow, and grease that it brought them no light from the twilight world beyond it.

They were careful not to make any noise as they walked on the cracked tiles of what had once been a locker room. Mice squeaked loudly, protesting violently to the entrance of four humans, and ran off to hide in their holes. J nearly made a noise of disgust, but apparently remembered that tiled rooms echo and she settled for making a face instead. As they searched, Watari's mind went over the facts about the BB Murder Cases, trying to recall everything he could, just in case. It frustrated him that he couldn't remember everything, but it was…perplexing that the one thing he was certain about was how sterile and controlled B's scenes had been, but this place…it was so dirty that even L would have made sure to wear shoes before coming inside.

From the changing room, they entered a break room full of dilapidated and broken furniture from, if Watari had to put a date on it, perhaps the nineteen forties or fifties. More mice had taken up residence inside.

"Anyone notice," S began, "there hasn't been any sign of anyone here since the tire tracks?"

They had and, as far as Watari was concerned, that was a bad sign.

The smell of oil and fish was getting stronger the farther inside they got, igniting a warning in the back of Watari's mind. And, just as S grabbed the door handle, something clicked. Both mentally and literally. It was too late to stop him, though—the door was swinging open quickly. In the main room of the fishery, dozens of oil barrels stood rigged. A blind-folded blond girl sat in the middle of it all, bound to a chair, with a speaker phone placed beside her. They couldn't run and save her, though. A digital timer had flipped on when the door had opened, counting down seconds.

Before Watari could react, Z had grabbed him and was yanking him away from the room. They didn't get far, though—ten seconds later, the barrels exploded and knocked the foursome off their feet.

And the building was consumed by heat and flame.

* * *

**AN:** WATARI! NOOOOOOO! *sobs* On a slightly less worrying note, the more letters I introduce the more I'm convinced Wammy's House is a can of alphabet soup. Mmm. Anywho. Oh noes! D: Will they survive? Will Q stop being a techie ninja? Will L ever get away from B and get back to his cake? Will Roger figure out how to get out of the middle of nowhere in a helicopter he can't fly? Will I ever stop torturing characters? (*snorts* Don't bet on it.) Watari! Come back to us! T-T Reviews please?


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